


Ties that Bind Us

by yogurtgun



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Magic!Bard, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-20
Updated: 2015-04-20
Packaged: 2018-03-24 22:54:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 28,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3787399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yogurtgun/pseuds/yogurtgun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thranduil was right. Somehow, Bard should put that thought on a piece of paper and frame it in his living room, if he still has a house to go back to when all this is over.</p>
<p>Or the one in which Gods play favorite, Bard has an uncanny ability too dangerous and everyone would have agreed, if they knew he had it, of course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my wonderful beta [Ada](http://somewhatbyronically.tumblr.com), I love you lots and to the amazing artist [Alex](http://alikuu.tumblr.com/post/116862195145/art-for-ties-that-bind-us-by-keni) whose work is [here](https://40.media.tumblr.com/bd78f3d0080b45e863846308a3436cc4/tumblr_nn2urqKMnf1qehb4bo4_400.jpg) and [here](https://41.media.tumblr.com/1ebc7b0098c4a556dbb88e73e0234298/tumblr_nn2urqKMnf1qehb4bo3_1280.jpg)

“There is a rope around your neck.” Bard had said to his father, eyes filled with wonder and fright looking at the grey thick frayed rope.  
The misshapen dust he thought was just his mind playing tricks had settled neatly in a shape of a rope not moment before making Bard jump at the sudden sight, looking so real it was impossible it was a trick of light.

The rope was similar to the ones his mother used to hang laundry inside when it was raining. Twisted, with girth barely shy of rope they used when tying their livestock but much more finely done, it sat comfortably around his father’s freckled sagging skin. It seemed to be pulled upward by some kind of force and then it simply disappeared into the air, two inches above his father’s brow. It gave off an eerie feeling of otherworldliness Bard hadn’t understood back then. 

His father startled and looked at him, shock frighteningly clear on his dark face before it twisted into something completely different. He seemed suddenly tense with his back straight and hands pulled in fists. In one of them was a quill, completely forgotten and dripping black ink over the parchment. It squeaked under his father’s hold and Bard felt uneasy. He waited for his father to move, to say anything, but the man just stared at him, unmoving. Unbreathing. His mother had then come bustling in, with supplies from the market and a sunny smile donned upon her face. Whatever tension there was that poisoned the air around them, whatever secrets that made his father so afraid and wary that he and would not share, disappeared with her presence though they were not completely forgotten. Instead, just as suddenly as he had stopped, his father had turned back to the table and went back to teaching him what he could in reading and writing. Bard was only ten when he learned that to not speak his mind. He was ten when he learned to lie.

But his father knew now and Bard often caught his father staring at him as if he was some kind of...a thing instead of just Bard and Bard noticed how the rope around his neck was a bit darker, a bit older looking. Sometimes he caught it turning color and at those times he couldn’t help but look at it and his father knew and at this Bard always felt a twisting and turning sensation of uneasiness inside his belly.  
His father never hurt innocent people he knew that, he taught Bard who were good and who were bad people, who could be trusted. He taught Bard that even if they were supposed to protect them, bad people were bad people nonetheless. His father never ever hit him because of his sudden “ailment”, never as much laid a hand on him at all since the unsavory discovery but the dead look in his father’s eyes frightened him more than any hit he could have received otherwise. If he had called him sick or twisted or had not acknowledged him at all. Bard found himself growing weary of the man. 

His mother was another story, he had not told her and her rope was almost white but not quite, it looked well used but still sturdy and he hugged her legs from time to time shying from normal hugs as to not touch it. He didn’t know if he could at all, he didn’t know if something would happen to his mother if he did so he didn’t try, however curious he was. Unfortunately nothing escaped her eye though she’d accepted his sudden avoidance of normal hugs the same way she’d accepted him wielding a bow. With a heavy heart but nonetheless understanding. 

A week had barely passed when they had a big commotion in the public square, and he saw some kind of a wooden stage set up, as tall as two or three grown men. His father had lifted him up and sat him on the back of his neck, despite Bard shying away from his touch, because he could barely see anything young and small as he was. (That didn’t disturb the rope, it just twirled around and was in front of his father now, though his father seemed not to notice.) Bard, holding onto his father’s head, albeit wearily, saw a man being lead onto the stage and the first thing he noticed was a dirty grey rope around his head before a real one, brown and new, was put around his neck. 

He had known immediately what was going to happen, they were going to hang the man, his friends had mentioned it and laughed cruelly before. The man didn’t look at all evil to him as they had described him, he just looked tired and sad. 

His father was holding him tight and they waited for the man dressed in black, who had lead the prisoner on the stage to pull the lever.  
As he waited in the crowd, his head protruding from many that waited in strange anticipation Bard felt uneasy once again. Somehow, this didn’t seem right, he felt as if he himself had somehow sentenced the man to die just by waiting. But he didn’t know why, he didn’t even know the man nor what he had done to deserve death. His father often said that bad things were drawn to bad people yet his mother told him that justice was attracted to injustice. Bard wondered which was true. If either was.  
Then suddenly the floor under the man collapsed, and there was a terrible sound of a snap and of rope straining. The crowd suddenly burst out cheering and throwing curses and happy yelps. Bard swallowed a whimper, startled and scared of the crowd. 

“The man’s rope was black wasn’t it?” His father asked and Bard froze for a moment, before nodding. His father then let him down and patted his head, looking somewhat fulfilled. Bard wondered why he asked, though he couldn’t ask now that he was being led away. The man’s rope was perfectly grey if a bit tattered. 

-

It was a while before he saw what his father expected him to see back then. Black noose, thick and tight was sitting around a man’s neck as he sat in the tavern, ale flowing into his mouth as soon as it flowed out of the barrel. He had sat facing him, as his father sat opposite of Bard, already fifteen and ready for his first drink. Bard was hardly excited over this but it was a tradition, his father had said, first drink for a man of age. Bard hadn’t told him he’d already drunk ale before, hadn’t told him he’d drank more than ale but his father didn’t need to know. 

So instead he sipped on his beer when it came, remembering to look mildly discomforted and when he could he looked at the man. 

Tired eyes misted over and uncentered, oily hair and unkempt beard, legs shaking under the table, hands spilling the ale from the glass before it met his mouth- the man looked like the men he watched before an execution only a lot less resolved. Then someone burst into the tavern, angry eyes searching the crowd and Bard immediately recognized the man as one of the fishermen. 

If Bard knew he could, he would have said that the man flew flied across the room right toward the drunk; angry eyes filled with hatred and murder. He watched fascinated as the noose around the man’s rope darkened with every step he took and in turn he watched and the drunken man’s noose coiled around his neck over and over again, tighter and tighter until Bard wondered how he could breathe. And then suddenly the man was jumping on top of him, accusing him of something, and they fell on the ground rolling with punches and kicks. The other men, even his father, had stood up and tried to separate them, tried to talk them down and some were just staring. Somehow Bard knew they wouldn’t be able to end it before it was too late. 

He watched with dark fascination as the fisherman managed to stay on top of the drunk and pressed his hands to his windpipe, choking him. The noose tightened and tightened and there was the same snap as back then, the same sound of the rope pulling taut before it suddenly relaxed and faded into dust.

Sound came back to the tavern then and there was a big commotion, the fisherman trying to free himself from the hands that pulled him away from the body. He yelled and pleaded that he hadn’t been gripping that tight, that the drunk died of himself. Bard wasn’t sure the man wasn’t right considering what he had seen, he had aided....or perhaps he was the rope that killed the drunk. 

But, Bard thought, watching as guards were called and carried the man away, the cost was his own rope considerably darkening. 

His father had dragged him out of the tavern eventually, and Bard had wondered why he was feeling so calm when his hands were trembling in his father’s grasp, wondered why he felt burning in his chest when his breath was coming out alright. Only later did he feel shock wash over him and shake through every fiber of his being, when his throat tightened and he begged for air that would not come just like those men, strangled by their own fates. 

-

The curious and perhaps cruel thing about his ability was that he couldn’t see his own noose. 

In the mirror or in the clear lake water it didn’t matter, he looked like everyone else should have, just neck and skin and nothing else. 

Another curious thing was that it seemed that bad things happened around him, wherever he went. To him by then it was common knowledge that people with the black rope died quickly, that the grey shades were different kinds of good or bad people, and that only children avoided obtaining the noose until they were nine or ten. Regardless, theirs was the brightest even, if not white, and perhaps that was the reason Bard enjoying looking after children however unorthodox that was of a young man. 

Nevertheless his ability surprised him from time to time, some times there were men who had the black noose that didn’t die no matter how long he waited, sometimes people had dark nooses even though he knew for a fact they were as respectable as it came in their little town. Perhaps Bard was just too blind to see their faults; certainly very well hidden. Sometimes one part would be darker than the other, different shades waiting to blend into each other, waiting for their maker to make a mistake and call them out. 

By then he was twenty-four and just taken over his father’s business as a bargeman. Even if he had been helping since he was a kid, his father was now fresh in the ground beside his mother and someone had to do the job. 

Bard had felt relief wash over him when he saw the charcoal around his father’s neck chip into nothingness, knowing that he wouldn’t be stared at with those eyes again. They made Bard’s skin crawl and feel uncomfortable. They intimidated him and prompted him to do something, expected him to do something and Bard felt irritated because didn’t know and didn’t understand what his father waited for him to do. Perhaps the same way those shades waited to blend his father too had waited for Bard to make some kind of a mistake. He felt relieved... and yet unquestionably sad. He had loved his father in those strange moments when he felt himself as just a son when he was being taught of bows and arrows and quills and paper. In those moments when he was just a child, making silly mistakes and not much trouble at all. So Bard settled with peace in his heart and laid his father to rest. 

It didn’t pass long before he met his wife, then just a girl surrounded by dazzling light and smelling of flowers and strength hidden under supple flesh in the summer before his twenty-fifth birthday. Her strong brown hair twisted in locks that fell down above her chest. It always used to fall into his eyes and somehow into his mouth but his exasperation always made her laugh so she would rarely bind it if she wasn’t working.  
By his twenty-eighth they were married with a baby girl of two. A year later they had a boy  
and in another short five, a girl again. Having family was one of the greatest things he could have, gold and jewels be damned. 

Then Bard had a sudden rude awakening, a cruel realization that not all people who have black nooses died nor that those with grey ones lived forever either.  
His wife died when his youngest was two and his eldest about to get her own noose. 

-

He tried to be a helpful father, he tried to teach them to be kind and smart and to take care of each other, to care for each other no matter what. He taught them that not all people who were bad were bad and that not all people who were supposed to be good were good either. He taught them to be weary and above all he told them to protect each other at all cost, told them that he loved them because gods knew he didn’t tell them that enough. To him they were irreplaceable, three nuggets of happiness and energy that he wasn’t willing to share with anyone else. He desperately wanted them to grow up right, to grow up free and confident and believe in themselves because they could conquer all. But Bard also wanted them to be cunning, to learn to be wary and careful. Nothing came of ill timed bravery and honor. In their town it was beaten out of them if nothing else and Bard wanted his children safe.  
But, Bard also knew that it would be hard to teach them that, it was something that came along with age. All three of them were brazen as bulls. 

-

The elves came along with the job, however rarely they appeared before him. Helping his father, he knew about the usual patrols and didn’t startle away from them. His father had taught him to never panic even if they would sneak up behind him (walk to him normally, it was his own fault his hearing wasn’t as good as theirs) and he taught him one of the respectful greetings so they would go away faster, as his father had said.

When he had taken over his father’s job, he had been summoned before the Elvenking so that he could ensure Bard would continue doing his father’s bidding. Considering all the gold in Laketown came from Greenwood Bard knew that the Elvenking would not consider any man, not that many would dare come near Greenwood. The more imminent danger Bard was facing as opposed to his father ensured that the job would be his though the price was high as well. Bard knew that the woods had grown more dangerous though the only sign given to him was some kind of pressuring feeling, some kind of uneasiness pushed him away from it and pulled him in at the same. He dared not cross the treeline until he saw the elves there. 

He had been escorted by one of the usual patrols to the gates, left there for another elf to take over. He was then led through many hallways with intricate designs,all smelling of earth and bark and ripe fruit. The air around him had sang with pureness and energy.  
The elves themselves sang of the similar energy or pureness and oldness, a soothing kind of magic wafted off of them and Bard felt all of his nerves calm. Bard had wondered for a moment if that was the reason elves didn’t posses the ever-present ropes but his thoughts had been redirected and then quite easily preoccupied by the Elvenking who was sitting in his throne. 

Bard bowed saying reverentially “Your Majesty.” 

“Lord,” The Elvenking had said quickly correcting him, “To you as of today I am Lord since you will be serving me same as you serve your Master.” 

Bard had nodded and waited in silence for the Elvenking to speak again. Slowly, he descended the side stairs that led up to his throne, the seams of his long robes falling as silently across the wood as his steps. Lord Thranduil was tall, taller than Bard, wide shoulders covered by grey and silver silks. But what really struck Bard, was his hair flowing down to his lower back. Atop his head was a crown- impressive and sinister very much like the owner.  
Bard had felt himself relax even more in his presence even though he knew he should have been intimidated. Lord Thranduil was very very old and irritable and would not spare more time than he deemed strictly necessary. Unsurprisingly Bard had talked little and Thranduil quick and straight to the point, about what he expected from Bard and what he absolutely didn’t ever. Bard had listened and nodded silently as it was the best option really; Bard was fairly certain that the Elvenking was just trying to scare him. Not that it was not working, because it was, but it was hours until he was dismissed and by then Bard was too tired of standing in one place to feel anything other than sleepiness bite at his heels. Perhaps if he didn’t feel so comfortable in the elvish home he would have been petrified at the sight of Thranduil .The magic around him was too strong for such a thing however, it blanketed his senses and his mind and left him pliant and agreeing. In the end Thranduil sent him back home with a forced glass of wine in his belly and an entourage for the way back home.

-

He was thirty seven when he met Lord Thranduil Elvenking of Mirkwood for the second time in his life, or rather when the King had came across Sigrid and him in the wood near the river bank. Bain and Tilda were still too young to go with him, together with old Nan who had been looking after Bard’s children ever since his wife had died, together with other neighbourhood women who didn’t mind a few more children to look after, another head in the bunches of three to five was no problem and Bard was grateful. 

But Sigrid had deemed herself old enough to help out and Bard figured that she could stand and watch, sure that she would get bored sooner rather than later. Sigrid was responsible for her age, but she was still but a child, always looking for excitement and adventure. Always wanting to discover her world as soon as she could. It was perhaps the reason she had wandered into the woods without his permission. Bard had seen her playing with something at the edges of the woods, where light flowed freely through the low branches of winter trees. As soon as he’d turned, she was gone, and Bard nearly had a heart attack right there. It didn’t look promising either, the way grey clouds were starting to numb the sunlight, casting shadows all over. 

Bard had ran into the forest the moment he had secured all the barrels, calling out to Sigrid, trying to see if he could track her. He was far from calm enough to try it effectively, so he instead tried following the narrow path she must have wandered on. But Mirkwood was not that kind, Bard knew what monsters lurked here , he knew why elf patrols always warned him not to to go in. They were right of course, he listened to them, and he would have this time as well if Sigrid hadn’t wandered in.

He called out her name again as he went through the underbrush, he knew yelling at the top of his lungs would do more harm than good but at this point he was beyond caring.. He was losing light, he realized with fright. He didn’t know why, it had been a perfectly sunny albeit a tad cloudy day and it was still far too early. 

The hand that held his bow twitched, he felt a prickling at his neck and he turned so suddenly he surprised himself, drawing his bow taut with an arrow, ready to launch it any moment.  
For a breath’s length he couldn’t see anything, just trees dirt and wondered if his senses were playing with him, wondered if he was losing him mind, and this time it was a more crippling fix that the one he already had. Then he spotted him, yards and yards away, looking calmly at him, an elf standing in what seemed the only sunny spot in the whole forest. Next to him stood Sigrid, staring down the same direction but not spotting him yet. Bard felt he could breathe again, albeit not completely, not until he had his girl in his arms, but the elf looked like in no hurry to move. Bard had only time to recognize him, though Bard wondered why it took him that long at all, before he was sprinting towards them. The moment Bard emerged from the darkness Sigrid flew into his arms, hugging him tightly and Bard took her into his arms, hugged her back just as hard. 

The elf watched calmly at the exchange of reassuring words and childrens mumbles and when it was all done he raised a hand, finger pointing in a direction.

“Go south,” Lord Thranduil said, voice strong and steady. “In another hundred paces you will hear the river. Follow the sound.” 

Bard had enough tact to understand who was standing before him, enough tact to bow and say “Thank you, my Lord.” Before he was carrying Sigrid off to the direction that was being pointed. 

It was a ridiculous thought, to be saved by the very Elvenking but it was true enough. Bard could feel it in his veins, every millennia that shaped the elf spoke of greatness, spoke of natural right over his realm and woods, of claim over every living being in it good or bad. Bard had wondered what people meant when they said that someone was born to be a leader or a king, but now he knew. 

-

After they arrived home and Sigrid had calmed down she told him that Lord Thranduil had caught her wandering around in circles and offered her a hand that she took, that she knew that she wasn’t supposed to, but that she knew she could trust him somehow and that anyways he was an elf not a man. Then he’d led her slowly to the place where Bard had spotted them. She told him he would sometimes stand still and listen to something and that she was pretty sure he was following that sound. 

After that Bard had made sure to always have one eye on Sigrid when they went for the barrels. Soon Bain was old enough to go as well so when they did go together Bard also managed to teach them a bit of archery when he had the time, it was harder when they were in the town, anyone could have been easily hurt and he did not want to watch as his children’s necks tainted quick and far too soon. 

-

Bard had already decided he was going to be forever grateful to Lord Thranduil but however shocking his appearance was life went on for Bard and their town. Bard hadn’t expected to ever see the Elvenking again and so when he was summoned by the Master only to see an elven entourage standing in the main hall, motionless and ready, Bard wondered what was going on. 

(He had been making his bed, deciding to quietly celebrate his fourtieth birthday and to buy his children something sweet in the market that day, when there was a knock on his door, commanding and privileged. Bard had groaned but gotten up to answer nonetheless, only to have Braga frown at him and tell him he was being needed in Master’s chambers. It had been early, far too early for Master to be functioning properly, and Bard had walked briskly to the Town Hall, leaving Sigrid and Bain and sleeping Tilda behind.) 

Bard decided that any more tardiness would only unleash the Master’s furry for he had slowed down in his thinking, if not now then later, so Bard quickly scurried toward main chamber doors.  
Upon entering Bard immediately noticed what had the Master is a kind of frenzy that would have him summon Bard just before dawn and not still getting drunk. In the center of the room near the hearth stood the Elvenking, watching flames dance with no particular expression at all. 

Bard inclined his head in respect albeit confused. “My Lord. ” 

He heard shuffling of fabric and straightened to look up at the Master, to him Bard did not bow but did address him either way.

“Ah, yes, Bard, good man Bard.” The Master said and Bard wondered if he just heard that.The man continued before Bard could comment. “You know the town better than anyone else and you’re well spoken. You shall go and be company to his Majesty as he takes in the city.”

“Oh...But I-” “Yes, yes you will be adequately compensated for missing work.” Master cut in and Bard shrugged. It had not been what he wanted to say but he wasn’t about to bite himself. Feeling rather awkward between the Elvenking not responding and the Master talking too much he shuffled. 

“Of course.” Bard replied. “Whenever You are ready.” Bard turned to Thranduil and waited. 

The wood in the hearth fell and as if on queue Lord Thranduil turned around and said, “Immediately, then.” Walking briskly toward the door where Bard was standing.

Bard followed after him just as quick until they were out on the street where Bard showed the way and they fell in a comfortable pace. The entourage had been left behind in Master’s house and as such it was only the two of them with all the townsfolk that were awake looking at them stunned, as Bard made quiet commentary about where they were going and what people were doing. 

He hoped for no trouble that day, the Elvenking needed not see what the race of Man could be at their lowest. The elf however didn’t comment nor did his face show any other sign than blank politeness and Bard wondered, if there were a fight in front of them, would Thranduil just step over them as if they were litter? However, luck was on his side, it was still too early for anyone but the fishermen to rise.  
They had circled the town for about two hours and the last place Bard took him was out to the docks, where there was a clear sight of the Lonely Mountain, it’s peaks hidden in the morning mist. Thranduil seemed to like the view so they stayed there longer than anywhere else, standing above deep clear water, navy blue and colored otherwise only by their reflections.

Lord Thranduil had muttered something then, too quiet for Bard to hear, so he turned toward Thranduil with a questioning look. The elf had glanced at him from the corner of his eyes before looking at the lonely mountain again. “And the bells shall ring in gladness,” he said softly but clearly, “at the Mountain King’s return. But all shall fail in sadness, and the Lake will shine and burn.” 

There was weight in those words, a prophecy. A promise. Gooseflesh rose on Bard’s skin and every part of his being trembled, somehow, he felt as if those words were a curse settling over the town, over the people, over himself. Thranduil turned towards him for only a second, a moment perhaps to see the alarm in Bard’s face or disbelief. But there was no lie in Thranduil’s voice or in his words. Only imminence, only patience for the inevitable of what was to come some day.  
Bard felt dread on his tongue and saw smoke in his mind and wondered if he would be alive to see that kind of ruin.

“Shall we?” Thranduil spoke again, in that quiet tone that prompted one into action.

Bard nodded, of course, and they returned to the Master’s chambers.

\- 

When they reentered the chambers, the place looked clean, at least much cleaner than before. It smelled of new laundry and chamomile, soothing the senses, but Bard was not to be tricked. He had been in the room far too much for far too long to not recognize the whiff of bourbon underneath it all.  
The Master greeted Lord Thranduil again and invited him to breakfast that was quickly being set by servant girls. Alfrid skulked around as well, waiting for the perfect time to suck up to either man or elf. Bard found the opportunity to leave, making excuses, however a simple look from the Elvenking had him sitting at the table with both of them, eating the Master’s lavish breakfast.

He was mostly ignored however, as the Elvenking and Master made small talk and Alfrid coming around pouring wine (which Bard graciously accepted to Alfrid’s great distaste). The first cup he drunk the second it was filled just to annoy Alfrid so he would have to fill it again, though the second one he did not touch. He was preoccupied trying to figure out how to eat as much as possible while drawing as little attention as necessary. He wished his children were here, he was sure they would have enjoyed the chicken meat and honey cakes. Bard wondered briefly if he could steal a few, but decided against it. They still had some supplies back home and Bard had managed to hunt down some game in the winter. 

And suddenly, without him noticing, he was left alone with the Elvenking again, just as he had finished off his plate. The Master must have excused himself, perhaps to the toilet, but Alfrid was gone as well so Bard wondered if a fight had actually broken out. 

“Belly full?” Lord Thranduil spoke and Bard smiled quickly. “Yes, thank you very much.” 

Thranduil’s mouth quirked as if he found it funny. “The honey cakes are all yours as well.” He pushed the plate toward Bard with an open hand and at that Bard felt a flush on his cheeks. Still, he managed to fight through it, pilling three in his napkin and putting them inside his jacket. “I was just thinking how I could smuggle them out of here, I am certain my children will like them.”

“You have children?” Lord Thranduil asked and Bard nodded. 

“Three.” 

The elf seemed to be satisfied with that answered and nodded. 

“I find it irritable how the person you call Master lives such an abundant life considering the state his town is in.” His blue eyes pierced at Bard then, serious. Bard understood then that the Elvenking had expected it, but that didn’t mean he had supported it. He also knew he couldn’t take it away considering the sword would break over the citizens’ backs not the Master’s.

“It is as it has always been. Greed and sloth color this town in it’s misery and illness, they demand respect and uphold authority and they own our lives. ‘Tis a hunger that can’t be cured, that corrupts and colors itself black. And finally, one day, they will choke on the nooses that they themselves coiled around their necks.” Bard’s words were foreboding but he spoke the truth as it was, such as he had learned it to be. The Elvenking seemed to know this as well, but it was as if he still knew more. He held a tired expression on his face, and to Bard it seemed as if, through his silence, he’d said that perhaps it took too long for the noose to strain.

“Sin is something we all carry.” The Elvenking simply said with finality. But Bard couldn’t help but think, looking at the Lord’s silk covered throat, that it couldn’t be entirely true.

-

Before dusk set the Elvenking had been gone, with no trace that he had been in their little town but their memories. Bard had been excused after the Master had returned to the table and returned to his duties. As per agreement Bard hadn’t ventured into the woods and he had a few peaceful years pass him by. 

Somewhere between his forty first and forty second he had received a small pouch via elf when he was waiting for his barrels, a gift from Lord Thranduil as the elf who gave it to him explained. Inside were three flatbreads, neatly folded in green leaf with dry fruit and nuts. Bard had thanked the messenger before putting the gift away. He as all elves disappeared soon after. 

His forty third came with turbulence and Bard felt, now more than ever, darkness press down on him. Winter was always cruel but nothing like the way it started that year. His heart grew weary and he knew that it would be hard, much harder, to keep him and his children alive for the duration of it. The Mirkwood grew more restless by the passing day and Bard wondered, what exactly he was waiting for. 

The sign came in fourteen barrels filled with escaped dwarves from Thranduil’s dungeons, one wounded and one not dwarf at all. They had offered money for the fare to the Laketown and Bard knew any bit of extra coin he could scrounge would come in handy come winter. Food he could obtain but warm jackets for the children, that he knew, would cost him an arm and a leg each. He hadn’t wanted to anger Thranduil, not then, not ever, but he also needed the dwarves’ money to survive. 

So he promised weapons and he promised passage and he steered them into the Laketown, like the bringer of his own death. 

He had forgotten Thranduil’s prophecy, however much it shook him back then. Not completely, not so much he forgot the horrible feeling in his gut but enough not to remember how it ended and how it started.

His own eyes had lain on the dwarves’ necks and told only of common taint, of sin no man or dwarf could escape for it came from life. He had watched as the lies coated their ropes and he’d closed his eyes. Not yet, he thought, not yet.

He should have known that he shouldn’t have the moment he saw the dwarves gone from his home, the moment he heard the terrible screech of the dragon and he only thought of fire and ruin. Oakenshield had promised gold if it came to this, he had promised and he had lied and Bard watched as he could not sway his people to see the truth. Only he was cursed to watch the lie taint the dwarf’s neck, a lie so poignant even the bearer believed in it so completely he was lost in denial. Only Bard could fight against greed and baseless hope for better that his people were promised, that they desperately needed and yet would never be gifted to them. Never.

Perhaps because Thranduil had told him the words that he trusted them so deeply, it was a promise and a prophecy and rarely did elves prophecy to ordinary men. Bard believed Thranduil’s words because Thranduil was old and wise from the countless millennia he had lived through, Bard could trust him because Thranduil knew and saw things like this already come to pass and there had been no reason for Thranduil to lie. He trusted him, strangely, even though he could not see if the elf ever did lie to him. Perhaps that was what being normal felt.

The dragon came, the town burned and Bard found that he would not stay hopelessly and wait for it all to get better because it wasn’t going to be. He decided to make his own faith however much it meant getting killed by a dragon. There were worse deaths, he was sure.

He had never expected to have to use the black arrow, he never thought there would be someone mad enough to wake the dragon. But the moment his children were with him in the chaos of dragonfire he knew that it was inevitable. Bain had helped him, bless his kindness and braveness of young mind, he had only trembled facing away from the dragon that was coming straight at them, black arrow hoisted on his shoulder. 

The dragon fell, with the last long screech, and plummeted down into his own fire. Bard had felt relief wash over him, a kind of relief he knew he would feel only in that moment for he knew that the battle was long before over, knew that the real battle for life and death came after.

With the survivors he made haste for Dale, after they had washed up on the shores and gathered what little supplies they had, and after Dale for the Lonely Mountain. Oakenshield had promised, he repeated to himself, he had sworn an oath. A binding. He wondered if dwarves respected a promise as much as men did, he wondered if they held honor as high as their own lives. Most men did, but dwarves were not men.

They spent a day and a night in the Dalish ruins, nursing the wounded and caring for the children, and on the next morrow the elves came. The army made path for Bard and before him the Elvenking rode out on his elk, a creature with mighty horns Bard was sure were useful in a battle. Behind him a cart full of food and water followed, supplies for healing he was sure they were missing and more. 

Lord Thranduil had been ready for war, said as much to Bard. He wanted his claim on the mountain, wanted the heirloom of his people, Bard wanted the gold as well, he wanted his people to survive. But war was not something he wanted, nothing so destructive could stem any goodness and good will, and for once he found a resemblance between elves and dwarves. Both were too stubborn to give up, both wanted and took what they wanted without apology. At least elves knew what came after, dwarves just didn’t care. That much he found out after speaking to Oakenshield. Honor, after all, was nothing to him. He should have expected it, Lord Thranduil said as much, but he had held onto the foolish hope that perhaps greed could be overcome to help countless lives that would be lost. War was not the answer. Could they war against thirteen dwarves held in a mountain anyhow? The dwarves would run out of food and rocks to throw at them soon enough. The elves were many and Lord Thranduil was nothing but persistent. 

Lord Thranduil had waited to hear word from him and when Bard had came back disappointed, shocked by the blackness that surrounded Thorin, shocked what gold could do to people, Thranduil declared war. 

-

The people had dressed him in good clothes, said that if he were to be king he needed to look like it and distracted Bard had nodded away. He wondered how many people, elves were going to die needlessly. He still believed that the war could be prevented, Thranduil was nothing but wise but he was also horribly serious in his intentions. Bard wondered if all elves were like this, and he thought not. Only Thranduil and his Woodland kind would be this brazen, this powerful, this free. 

Like the bringer of bad news, they didn’t need the Grey Wizard who came with stories of orcs and Dol Guldur. He had known that the Mirkwood had grown darker, more insidious, than before but if that were the reason...

Bard looked at Thranduil for confirmation. Thranduil glanced at him and, as if he wasn’t satisfied with whatever he saw on Bard’s face, he let out a soft breath with exasperation and told him how tricky wizards could be and handed him a goblet of wine that Bard hadn’t the stomach to drink. Somehow, Bard wondered if Thranduil knew of it before the wizard had, wondered if his own word had been spewed back at him from the wizard’s mouth.  
The wizard, Mithrandir, explained how taking Erebor was strategically positive for their enemy. Their enemy, their enemy who commanded orcs, their enemy who wanted the world to fall. Bard had had a sudden realization and wondered if it was possible- but it was. The Ring had never been found from what he’d heard from his father. Their enemy.

But before the wizard could utter another word Thranduil found a fatal flaw in his story, for he did not know where these legions of orcs were, and how was it possible to hide a legion unless it didn’t exist?

Bard wasn’t certain if it was a victorious gleam in Thranduil’s eyes he’d seen at the fallen face of the wizard, or just glee out of spite. He’d very soon learned how petty the Elvenking could be. So Bard returned to his assignments leaving Thranduil with the wizard, they had little time until the dawn. 

The wizard, almost begging, had approached him that night, asking if gold meant so much to him he would earn it with the dwarves’ blood. But he did not understand Bard’s heart, he did not want the gold like that, he did not want it if it meant killing for it. But people were going to die either way, and it was a fight dwarves could not win.

He said as much and then there was a voice, a tired panting voice of the halfling almost telling him off. Bilbo Baggins had returned from Erebor.  
The wizard whisked him into Thranduil’s tent almost instantly and Bard settled inside as well, watching how Thranduil made the hobbit feel uncomfortable. It was amusing, the whole scene really, until Bilbo whipped out the Arkenstone and presented it to them. Thranduil stood up, eyes taking in the pale light of the heart of the mountain. Bard had waited for him to reach out but amazingly, the Elvenking never did. 

Bilbo spoke fondly of the dwarves, as if he was speaking of family. Bard was sure it needed bravery to take the stone, to sneak out and to come into the enemy’s territory, however he knew he could not reassure the hobbit of anything. It all rested on Thranduil. When he uttered the words, “There will be no need for war” and glanced at Bard, Bard came to a realization that the hobbit had come to bargain for the dwarves’ lives. 

Bard looked at Thranduil with a curious hope burning in his chest again. Bard didn’t want war and neither did the wizard nor the hobbit. If this meant that they could take their share and leave without a drop of blood, Bard wanted it like that. Thranduil looked back at him as if he knew, as if he felt every thought on Bard’s tongue. 

The hobbit hadn’t lied, Bard hoped that meant something good.

-

After that the wizard whisked the hobbit away the same way he had led him in, and Bard was left with the Elvenking and the Arkenstone. Taking the liberty Bard poured the king some wine and covered the stone, handing him the goblet instead. He knew the pull Arkenstone had on all hearts, his father had told him the stories of it and dragon sickness that always plagued the bearers. He wondered how a gem could make a king. Perhaps to the dwarves and elves it was something more, something Bard could not see. They behaved as if it was an entity and Bard could recognize the beauty of it, but to him it was a big gem, impressive and stunning, but just a stone in the end. 

“You should take it,” Thranduil said, sitting back into his chair. “I could not bear to touch it.”

Bard nodded and the folded up gem placed in his chest pocket. “The hobbit, I like him.” 

Thranduil hummed, swirling the wine in the goblet. “A strange creature, relatively new. His kind seems not interested in the outside world outside their own, the only greed they have is for food and pleasantries. This one however, is different.”

“I fear he will be heartbroken.” Thranduil looked at him then, straight in the eye as if he was speaking of something else entirely. Had he learned about his gift, Bard could only wonder.

“Perhaps.” Bard answered. “But hope is the one thing that keeps you going. But it also blinds people. Everything is good in moderation. Even greed.”

“We’ve long passed the point of moderation I’m afraid.” Thranduil said drinking his wine. “The greed of dwarf never ceases to amaze me. Not unexpected of course, but still disappointing.”

Bard nodded. “But if what Mithrandir said about the orcs is correct, then that would be fighting two fronts. Your army is vast, my lord, but not that vast.”

“You could be right, of course.” Thranduil said with contemplation. “Mithrandir could be right. But I’ve learned, and it took me a long time, to trust my own eyes and ears first.”

“And your eyes and ears tell you that the wizard is on a saving excursion, purely dwarven in kind.” Bard nodded. It was, if not the most thought out, the most plausible intention of the wizard. ”There’s a balance of hope and dread inside of me but there’s a grey cloud settling over the Lonely Mountain. I wish for peace but... the one thing you wish for the most never seems to be granted to you.” There was silence then, fresh night air streaming through the open flaps. It would soon be morning, Bard knew, and decided to lay hope on the dwarves again. Above all he lay hope on himself and Thranduil to know what to do when the time came. 

“You seemed relaxed around me. Around Us.” Thranduil inquired after what felt hours.

“Yes.” Bard replied quietly. He expected not to have to elaborate but the pregnant pause and the pointed look in the Elvenking’s eyes told a different story.

“There’s a kind of calmness that rolls off of you that only comes to me when I am deep in woods or gliding through the calmness of water. When I feel not bound to this world. It’s a bit intoxicating to be honest.” Bard smiled a bit at Thranduil’s face, similar one he had given the hobbit just moments ago.

“My presence is intoxicating to you?” Thranduil said said, eyebrows dangerously near rising. 

“Perhaps it’s just the lack of wariness that I need in front of you that has me relaxed. I know you’re dangerous and deadly. No amount of wariness on my part will stop your hand slicing my throat if you wanted to unfortunately.” Bard quickly amended not wanting his words to come off any more twisted that they apparently did. 

At that the Elvenking leered and said, “Why you shower me with compliments.”

Bard felt a terrible blush fall upon the back of his neck and his cheeks and he covered his face with one hand making the Elvenking laugh. 

When he was done he drank the rest of his wine and stood up to pour more for the both of them. Bard took the goblet begrudgingly and drank.

“My woods have not been calming for a long time.” Thranduil sighed but with a smile still on his face.

Bard nodded in agreement. He knew that the woods were dangerous, beyond dangerous. The trees were malicious, the lone air played tricks on one’s mind, poisoned it and let the sickness spread through the rest of the senses. It breathed of sickness and ill-intent and it had only gotten worse over the years. ”Certainly, you sensed it long ago.” 

“You are quite right, Dragonslayer. Unfortunately nobody would listen,” Thranduil said bitterly. “I was just being paranoid they said. After the battle-”

But Thranduil seemed to not want to continue the story, perhaps too dark and foreboding to tell on a battlefield. It brought too much bad fortune. 

“Either way here we are, with potentially two fronts and imminent war. I’ve waited for too long to take the heirloom of my people only to be stopped by madness of the Durin’s line and it’s greed.”

“For now,” Bard said, “Anything is still possible.”

“You hope.” Thranduil said sadly.

“I hope.” Bard said agreeing.

-

Thranduil was right. Somehow, Bard should put that thought on a piece of paper and frame it in his living room, if he still has a house to go back to when all this is over. Oakenshield had not yielded and then the Iron Hills’ dwarves came to their rescue. Somehow, Bard had found it amusing, why, he did not understand. Perhaps for the same reason Thranduil had smiled when being threatened by Dain or simply because of the outcome. Then there were Were-worms and army of orcs poured out of the holes they created. At first only the dwarves marched to meet them and he wondered if Thranduil would stay his hand and not help, would he let the dwarves die. Surely, he knew that he himself could not destroy the army even if weakened by dwarves. 

He did not have time to dwell for he suddenly realized that Dale was going to be attacked, was being attacked. Two fronts after all, he thought, only against the orcs they all thought did not exist.

He shouted ordered for the men to go back to Dale, wounded, women and children were still there and had no protection. Dale could not fall, must not fall. He knew that well. With a last look at the Elvenking still high on his elk like the last time he saw him, Bard prompted his horse into a gallop. His children were still in the city, unprotected. 

His arrival was tardy as the orc armies had already poured into the city, into the Old Market where his children were. The men did not hesitate to follow him, screaming and fighting for their lives and lives of their loved ones. It did not matter, Bard realized, just that they were fighting. They needed to survive as well though. Despite that Bard thought that such was of little possibility. They were good men, as good as they could be considering everything, young and old fighting side by side. 

Bard found his children but knew he could not spare more than a moment with them, a moment to say goodbye but he wouldn’t do that to them no, they needed to be strong, they needed to be brave. Quickly he commanded them to help the ones who needed help and make for the Great Hall and barricade themselves in. He feared that it could only mean little protection if the elves and dwarves fell but...he needed them safe now. Alfrid came out of the shadows like he always did and Bard was too distracted by the pour in of the orcs to read the lies on his tongue and the noose around his neck. The nature of man came out only in critical moments and he knew he could not change Alfrid. He hoped however, he was a man and hope was a man’s strength and foolishness so he hoped and with a last goodbye ran back into battle. 

He saw elves then, fighting alongside the men. It was hard to pluck them out but by the gleam of their golden armor against the little light they held. But Dale was being pressed by orcs. He was sure he could see gleam of grey of the wizard somewhere though he could not be sure, could not focus long enough to confirm. He rallied his men one last time, they needed strength and inspiration and hope. The dwarves below were rallying as well, perhaps Oakenshield had decided enough of his foolishness was enough.

At some point he was sure they passed next to Thranduil’s beast, slain and crumpled on the rock and Bard wondered if Thranduil was with him in Dale as well, he must have been. But he could not find him, somehow he wanted to know that the elf was safe but the only blond hair he could find was that of slain women and elves that he did not recognize.

He had then come across Alfrid, dressed like a woman with gold and coin in his shirts. He did not feel disappointed as much as resigned. Then he left and Bard saw Thranduil’s son running north, with another elf with him. He wanted to warn them not to go there, in his sight there was a black hole stuck on the Raven Hill and there they could only find death. It was not his battle to fight, he decided, even if he did warn them they would not listen as was their nature. He returned to his men instead. 

-

The elves had withdrawn, he had heard the horn calling for them and he knew at once that Thranduil had had enough. He could not hold it against him, his people were, after all, different. He had helped more than he promised, more elven blood was spilt than any of them wanted. As the Raven Hill grew more alive Bard could feel the pressure in the air rising, feel the winds carrying his sword in the hearts of orcs, felt the breeze whisper to his heart the true meaning of the foreboding fear that was twisting his gut. And the more Raven Hill grew the less enemies were there in Dale, only fallen men, elf and orc alike, their blood mixing in a binding pool of death. 

And then just as sudden, the feeling disappeared, the same air that was polluting his mind rushing to clean it off of his body, wrenching away every last feeling of foreboding until sadness was all that was left. Something had happened, he knew, the sun was rising from the east, coloring the slopes of the mountain and field underneath it, silence filled his ears and rang like bells rang for a funeral. He knew then, that a King was dead.

But which king, he needed to know, he had not seen Thranduil since the moment he had turned his steed toward Dale. What prompted him, what made him fear the Elvenking’s death he did not know. Perhaps the elven bodies lying around him, that made him realize that Thranduil was immortal only from old age. He was his friend, he hoped, who else could lead the Woodland elves like him, who else loved them as much as Thranduil did.

A rider was sent and soon enough returned with word of Oakenshield’s passing. Not only his but his successors. The line of Durin was broken. 

-

The hobbit had disappeared as quietly as he’d appeared with the grey wizard alongside him, leading him back to his home. He had seemed heartbroken, not the way Bard had feared for him although that too had come true too, he was heartbroken in a way only love could break it and Bard felt incredible sadness wash over him while watching the hobbit go. It was even harder for the she-elf that had gone with Thranduil’s son, as he understood she had lost someone she loved as well, but his children were better versed into that story than he was. The moment they saw her they had hugged her, all three of them Bain not being shy in the slightest about it. 

As for Bard...he had met Thranduil, briefly while he was gathering the last of his men. He had looked beaten somehow, Bard wasn’t sure how he knew since his icy face gave off no feeling at all, but it was perhaps of that, perhaps of a promise of wetness in his eyes, perhaps of the way he had leaned into Tauriel’s space that Bard knew. He had approached him and Thranduil sighed looking at him, like all of his words were eaten and not enough to express whatever he wanted to say. 

“What will you do now?” Bard asked after an incredibly long time standing in front of the Elvenking and just looking.

“Build a pyre and burn the bodies of the fallen under the stars. We can not bring them all back home.” He looked ever saddened by that thought. “Then I shall return and recuperate. I’ve had enough war for a lifetime. What of you Bowman. What shall you do?”

“The city needs purging,” Bard said, tired. “The only thing we can hope now if for good weather and some rain. Though the smell of blood will not leave these stones for a long time.”

“But we will live, at least we will strive to survive.” Bard wanted to smile and failed and Thranduil’s mouth quirked. 

“Why does this feel like a goodbye?.” Thranduil queried. “Perhaps because I’ve been saying it too much. Would you join me tonight? For the pyre.” 

The invitation came out of nowhere and Bard would have been baffled, if he had any energy for sudden reactions.

“It is something sacred for you, for your people. I will not tarnish it with my presence. If you would like, we could have a glass of wine later.” Bard offered instead.

“I’m afraid later would be on the morrow.” Thranduil said but did not say no. 

Bard smiled. “Later is later, after this we all need some indulgences.”

-

And like that peace had returned to Middle Earth and Bard was left to be ruler, King of Dale. King of ruins for now, he joked in private, but he knew how people were, soon they would build it back up, would bring life into the ghostly streets even if it took them half a lifetime. 

The elves mourned their losses and Thranduil had stayed for seven days, same way the dwarves and men mourned their losses. Dain had opened the hoard to those that held claim on it and Bard gave away the gold to his peers and to those who knew how much it would take to repair Laketown and after that the city. Bain gifted Bard with the necklace of Girion as well. It held green emeralds in it, beautiful deep green that reminded Bard of Mirkwood back from his childhood. He was sure that no matter who wore it, man or woman, it would fit them like a crown fit a king. It sparkled in the sunlight and for a moment Bard was struck with an image of a man wearing it before it slipped from his mind. He gave the necklace away as well, to the Elvenking as Bard had nothing else to give him. He knew Thranduil would keep them safe and he knew that they would suit noone as well as they would suit Thranduil. White gems that Thranduil wanted were given to him as well and somehow, half satisfied, on the morrow of the seventh day he led his armies back to Mirkwood. 

Somehow, it really did feel like a goodbye then, watching the elf ride away Bard felt as if he’d never see him again and Bard didn’t want that.

They had shared company for the seven night he’d stayed, they ate and talked and drank and sat in silences. He’d discovered Legolas had went away and that Tauriel had disappeared the second day of their stay. Thranduil had told him that she’d raised her bow against him and Bard instead told Thranduil how she’d saved his children. 

“I hope she does not fade.” Thranduil had said the last night of his stay, and it struck Bard that Thranduil after everything still felt fond of Tauriel. 

“I’ve grown too fond of you as well Bowman, better not die of something silly like dysentery.” Bard had blanched at the pure thought.

“I fear more for the people of Laketown since I do not actually know how to rule.” Bard had said, but however real that worry was he knew they would pull through. Life was like that.  
“After everything, your hope does not wane, how interesting.” Thranduil had sloshing his wine around. He barely drank any anymore. Perhaps it was just pre-battle fondness before. Perhaps he did not feel good drinking it knowing how many of his people died.

“It is easy for you to say, you are immortal. Everyone else is born with an expiration date.” Bard huffed. “After my wife had died...I mourned. But I also lived because my children needed me. Because I knew that people depended on me whether they liked me or not. The bravery to live on is what’s important, what’s needed. If we crumbled every time something happened like a war or a loss and just lived in that grief that would not be life. That would not be living.” Bard had said, inspired by the strange happenings in his life, prompted by the Elvenking himself. He had been grim for far too long and the colors on his tongue felt like colors of dawn that was about to break. 

Men will heal, they will grow. The darkness would come for them again but it was up to them to fight it and keep it at bay. There was time yet, he thought. There was time.  
Thranduil had smiled at him a true and honest smile, as if thought he could hear Bard’s words resonate in his mind. 

Then the sun had risen breaking the charm of eternity night had thrown over them, washing away the cool air with the warmness of light and in the beautiful pale golden light Thranduil stood, his skin almost sparkling with dawn’s first caresses. Washing over his sharp features, it filtered inside the rest of the room to the furthest corner and reached Bard, welcoming him into the new day.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bard has a terrible memory and Thranduil doesn't know how to deal with emotions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is unbetaed but still needs to be posted because rules are rules. It will, eventually, be updated. I'm actually kind of proud of this one.

The winter hit them harder than they’d expected. After talking with Erebor’s leaders, the people of Laketown expected to start rebuilding the town as soon as possible but it turned from difficult to impossible. They had fortune of good weather for the first fortnight but then winter truly bit in and had no thought of letting go any time soon. The ground was frozen, the paths even more so, and any hope they had in restoring their city was blow away with heavy blizzards. They had enough time to reason with the new ruler of Erebor to let them stay inside the mountain. The people were willing to work and they would not take up much space, there wasn’t a lot of them left anyway. Bard had read the weather and advised King Dain to send for supplies, any more stalling and the mountains would be unpassable. They would get no help from the elves this time Bard knew, Lord Thranduil had to take care of his own first and Bard was sure that most of his supplies were exhausted considering the size of the army he led into the battle. The forest was a cruel mistress even to Elves who had been with her the longest, but as Bard found again and again, to nature it was all the same. 

The time passed as they lay in wait for spring, the halls of Erebor were vast and warm, even welcoming once they’ve cleaned a bit of rubble that Smaug had created with his enormity. It did not mean that the dwarves were friendly, nor that they conversed with them regularly, or that they did not have a huge amount of work, but it helped the people who had lost everything to fire. 

Large burners were lit every day with fires that kept until late in the night warming and lighting the inside of the mountain. The stink of dragon was aired out through the holes Smaug had created and then were first to be patched up, finally herbs were burned to cover any lasting smells. The fumes made people dizzy and dwarves jolly and if they didn’t go about falling on one another nobody was able to tell. The first thing Dain, new King Under the Mountain, ordered was counting and storing the gold which. Bard knew that this was not a priority. Cleaning out the mountain of bodies and blood that were certainly there, getting the forges started and production going--those were the things that needed to happen.

However, Bard made no comment and Dain came into it on his own, first on his priorities was rebuilding and thankfully they had enough stone for that and more. Dwarves were skilled sculptors and builders, surprising in their detail. Laketown Men could do only so much before their skill was insufficient. 

What took Bard as a more of a surprise was how the children took to the dwarves. The ones of Thorin Oakenshield’s company had remained inside the mountain, and knowing them, on some level at least eased Tilda, Sigrid and Bain’s nerves. They would go exploring the vast halls and hallways with them, listen to Balin’s stories and enjoy their music. Sigrid competed with Ori in knitting though in the end nobody knew the result as they had little wool and had to unmake what they knitted so they could go at it again. Dwalin had taken to Tilda though she was partially scared of him and partially shy. In the end Bofur and Bombur ended up being victims of her every whim and Bard found it both heartwarming and amusing when Bifur would carve something for all of them. Bain ended up being teased the most but not unkindly. They noticed he had a keen eye for construction and detail, one that perhaps was not common in men though Bard did not know anything of men outside of Laketown. Certainly years of repairing fishing lines and rods and boats when they needed the money repaid him in his gift. Bain had always been a helping hand, one that Bard tried to teach as much as he could. Gods knew any kind of trade or skill would come in hand anywhere he went. 

None of the other people were so fortunate as to get that close to the dwarves and Bard wondered if perhaps his children were allowed to be in their company because they were young. Certainly the dwarves had taken the Hobbit into their company but despite the similarities between the heights of the Hobbit and his children, Bilbo was definitely not a child. 

Another thing that Bard had found strange was the way he could barely glance a look at their nooses before they were gone. It was not as if his ability was failing him, he could see them clearly on his people, his children, but it was as if they were not willing to show to Bard, not yet.   
It made Bard a little bit unnerved. It was the same distorted picture he was seeing when he was a child before the ropes came into focus, only this time they dissolved in the line of his sight. There was a barrier perhaps, that did not allow him to see. Forbidding him to see.

The solution came as it always did, unexpected and tardy in form of his youngest dragging him to the chambers where she usually played with the dwarves. It was not far away at all but was separated by a few flights of nasty stairs that Tilda breezed through as per usual. Perhaps she would have been more scared if beneath them lie marble and not valleys of gold .

“I brought him!” She announced when they entered the room, almost two moons past their arrival.

The group of dwarves made a small cheer at her words. They were seated comfortably around a table with a small feast in front of them and two empty chairs in the middle where he and Tilda were ushered to sit. The jokers of the company made a few jabs at him before Balin began speaking.

“It’s been a long time and we saw it fit that we should have a meal set out like this, as an apology and a thank you for all the trouble we caused.” He said proudly and the others nodded. “It’s a bit tardy, we apologize for that.” 

“The little ones helped around the kitchen,” Dwalin said glancing at Tilda. “The older ones are still in there.”

“So that’s the reason I’ve not been seeing them around as much.” Bard smiled and then added more seriously. “Thank you, you didn’t have to go through all the trouble, I understand. Thank you.”

“Lighten up laddie, we wanted to!” Balin said.

And truly meals with dwarves were as strange as their behaviour. Bard quite enjoyed the rambunctiousness and their tendency to break into song every five minutes or so. The food was amazing as well, so many types of game and salads and breads. Bard spied Sigrid’s potato salad being a hit with the dwarves. Salads that had anything green in them however, they did not touch, completely defeating the purpose of a salad. It made Bard laugh.  
It was a happy boisterous gathering and Bard wondered why he could not eat a single bite. Perhaps he was satisfied with just watching them eat, it certainly wouldn’t be the first time. They poured him wine and filled his platter and he could only pretend to eat as not to offend them, slipping Tilda more food off his plate. 

After the dinner, when everyone was nursing their warm wine to keep the winter chills away, came stories mixed with plans for the future. Somewhere between Nori and Dori speaking he fell in a kind of a trance, a buzz that the wine had certainly brought him, and instead what he saw in front of him wandered far away, out of the mountain and far from Erebor or Dale into a strange land- not completely unlike Thranduil’s halls. But it moved and drifted and Bard could see strange men, a man, shining brightly in his vision. And as sudden as that, he was brought back into the halls of the mountain by his daughter’s voice.

“-da!” She’d said loud and cutting, breaking his reverie.

“Da always knows when someone’s lying.” Sigrid explained further albeit a bit begrudgingly. “Or when it’s going to rain.”

“Granted it rains almost all the time in Laketown,” Bain laughed. 

Sigrid pursed her lips in defiance . “Then we will not mention his superstition considering Mirkwood.”

Bain gawked. “You just did!” He said insistently.

“Alright, calm down you two.” Bard said. “You know I am right here, you guys usually talk about me behind my back.”

Tilda laughed at that. “Mister Oin was just telling us a story of a lying merchant that scammed him for five silvers.”

“Not that I didn’t get it back,” Oin said looking at Gloin. “But this one here was furious.”

“Peh!” Gloin waved his hand dismissively. “It’s only natural.”

“But then your daughter mentioned that you had a knack for busting liars.” Oin added.

Ori looked up from the beginnings of a quilt that he was making.“How so Master Bard, would you mind telling us?” 

Bard had only a moment to think before he was forced to give answer. “It’s...easy when you’ve lived whole your life with the same people. Laketown is just that, a small town upon a lake.”  
Oin nodded, satisfied with the answer. “Thought as much, no offence of course. You’ve also learned to read the weather because of your job if I’m not mistaken.”

“You have to, if you don’t want to sink.” Bard said. “It’s one of the reasons nobody wanted the job.”  
omg   
“I bet it’s also because of the bloody elves.” Nori said and there was a chorus of agreeing voices.

Bard laughed and sat back into his chair. “Actually, I find their presence quite calming.”

-

After that they did not sit together again though they did talk in passing and Tilda was insistent on telling him things about dwarven culture that she’d learned, both to see if she remembered everything and also to show off. Usually Sigrid or Bain interveined when she couldn’t remember or misremembered. So Bard learned, perhaps not entirely willingly, about their gods and language and sacredness of their real names. It helped him reason with his ability malfunctioning though he knew he could not test out his theories considering that no dwarf would ever tell him their true name. It seemed that their gods protected them better from the others than from themselves.

It did not matter for long as spring was on the verge of breaking and they were preparing to leave the mountain.  
Rains had been falling for a week, softening the ground and they only needed a few sunny days to set themselves up and start on the plans Bard had coined with the few builder dwarfs that were in Erebor. 

To Bard it seemed as if time was running from them the moment they’d set out from the mountain with gold and silver promised to them. They were suddenly rushing to keep up with the schedule, to find housing for the helping hands that traveled from all over the realm and were willing to settle down in Laketown once it was repaired. Dwarves sent aid eventually, when almost all the work that had to do with water was done. Thranduil sent help as well only in a different way. Large trees floated down the river carried by the stream and into the lake their roots still visible. They were old good trees or trees that crumbled under their own weight. They made the most splendid material and somehow Bard was not surprised by that at all.

A year passed in a rush and the other in a somewhat organized chaos. But things were getting better when gold was overflowing and trade was picking up. Other than Mirkwood, Laketown was now the only close source of food for the Erebor dwarves though of course they had dealings with their kin from the Iron Hills.   
There had been no voice from the forest- not to him and not to Erebor. He would have worried but he knew that for the time the shadow was gone and felt life course through it, once again pure just like in Thranduil’s Halls. 

Then, when another winter passed Bard felt a sudden need wake in him, pressing him to reach Dale. The last winter winds passed through him and as if they urged the winds within him to turmoil, they woke and coiled and wound in his gut. It was an alien feeling to him who had never truly belonged anywhere and certainly not in Laketown, to be called back, to be ushered to his estranged lands like a lost child. It was simply as if the ruins had been summoning him, forgotten for so long, with revenge in mind.

It certainly was strange returning to Dale, that he now knew more because of the battle than because he belonged to it and was it’s only heir. In the spring it looked the same as it did on the break of winter when it had been filled with orcs and trolls, the destroyed walls and streets still the same as back then. Hardly anything grew anymore, Bard could not find a single green leaf on the ground, no weed in the stone, nothing. The streets still smelled of blood- at least to him. It seemed that not even the snows could wash it all away.

As distressing as it was to watch the city like this, knowing it would never be the same, the people would never return- never will be the Dalish like of old who knew of nature and of animals and of rock, he knew he could not turn his back on the city now. Even he, after such a long time, did not truly belong with the city as only his blood connected him to it. All the skills and ways of Dale were long lost on him except archery and tales his mother had passed onto him. Perhaps it would not be the same but ,Bard thought, not much ever was. It was better for it to be rebuilt than to stand to ruin of time even further.

Before he could visit Erebor however, an envoy from the Elvenking came beckoning him to the forest and to Elvenking’s Halls. 

-

In any right mind Bard should not have been nervous, he and Thranduil were friends and he knew the Halls, he’d been there.   
That fact did not stop him from getting restless at all. Bard would think it funny if he wasn’t riding the very same day with the envoy to the Woodland Realm. Bard knew he should not have been in any hurry and he wasn’t, he left slowly and left instructions with Percy if anyone should need help in his absence though certainly, the people would manage. Still he felt anxious to get to Thranduil when he was being called and for a moment he thought it similar to the calling the ruins of Dale sent for him through the wind. But it was different in the end, the ruins were just that, ruins his blood was yearning for to return to, him wanting to be near the elvenking perhaps had nothing to do with anything else but his own private thoughts. 

One of the wonderful things, he thought while travelling through Mirkwood, was the greenery they passed. Since the shadow had lifted it became brighter, calmer and livelier. It was budding happily with no obvious sign of the maliciousness it once possessed. It was a blessing, both for them and for the elves. They needed peaceful times however short or long they planned to be.

“Please dismount before we cross the bridge.” The envoy told him as they were nearing the entrance to the halls. They did not change since the last time he’d seen them, made of thick flawless carved stone. Tall and heavy they were, though Bard knew they were no problem for elves to manage.   
He did as he was told and then he was led through the gates, through the mazes that made Thranduil’s kingdom and once more Bard felt easy peace settle over him. It was inevitable for his blood to thrum a little faster when he knew they were nearing the throne room but that was to be expected. He was looking forward to meeting Thranduil again, it had been too long. He felt a bit foolish for feeling such boyish joy over something as simple as a meeting of friends but Thranduil did have a knack for making him forget he was anything but himself with his thoughts, opinions and emotions, after all to him nothing else mattered. It took Bard a long time to realise that. 

No sooner than his thoughts formed Bard was in front of the Elvenking, once again looking up at him.   
Thranduil, sitting atop his wooden throne, wore magnificent pale blue robes shimmering with gems and silver thread. His crown was different than the one Bard had seen on him the time they parted; in the wooden hold of the crown pale flowers were twisted- icy white and lavender in color. As he turned his head toward him, Bard could see ones intensely purple as well separated by yellow. He exhibited exuberance and he looked at Bard with a piercing clear look that made Bard feel exposed to the Elvenking with his every flaw and imperfection. Serious but no unkind, Bard thought, breathing in the heady smell of the flowers.

“I see you’ve cleaned up quite a bit.” Thranduil said with his usual melodic tone that breathed with teasing remarked that were sure to follow. 

Bard hadn’t. He was wearing old clothes he’d bought when the markets had just opened, faded green and yellow. Sigrid had protested that peach color suited him more but it was impractical. Now Bard wondered if he should have worn them instead, he knew Sigrid had bought them for him and stashed them away. 

“Yes I quite like my new kingly robes.” Bard replied instead,picking at the fabric on his chest for effect. 

Bard watched as Thranduil’s face split into a smile- bright and invigorating. That was a sight, Bard thought privately, worth of a king. Thranduil seemed to have taken up the mood of the forest and it was certainly for the better. He looked stronger, healthier, though he was elf and granted he always looked like that. Perhaps it was the spring that brought joy, freshness, to him.

“You tease me too much my lord.” Bard replied with a smile, relaxing as he watched as the Elvenking got up from his throne.

“It is in my nature to tease the nervous.” Thranduil replied pleasantly as he descended down the stairs, saluting Bard with one of the elven greetings. 

Automatically Bard replied to it with his own. “It has been a long time.”

The Elvenking hummed in agreement and gracefully lifted a hand in gentlemanly fashion. “Let us walk,” he said.

-

The thing about the Elven Realm that always amazed and frightened Bard was it’s ability to make you lose sense of time, forget about the outside world and make you satisfied with that in your reach. 

As they walked Thranduil showed him his enormous kingdom, a mimic of what Bard had done once, long time ago. Bright light filtered from the surface down to the caverns lighting them up and where they could not reach crystals were enchanted to shine with almost the same brightness. There were no trees, none that Bard could see, but the stones were carved in such a manner that they could have fooled Bard had Thranduil not pointed it out. Underground streams and waterfalls decorated most of the walls, even in private chambers and it made Bard feel as if he was outside rather than in a giant underground castle. 

Much like the halls of Erebor, Thranduil’s halls gave off a feel as if they stretched out forever and into nothingness. It was an enchanting. 

Thranduil lead him to a big pavillion that was separated from the rest of the halls my a one way bridge built almost on a peak and open on all sides. It was built in such a way that their voices did not leave the podium, instead resonating from the white beams back at them. In the beams lay tooms heavy and old and in the center was a crescent crystal that shaped like a moon. It took Bard some time until he noticed the roof of the podium was decorated with more white gems, some small some big some not gems at all but crystals that reflected light and shined just as brightly. 

Any kind of residue nervousness Bard had at that moment left him and instead he was filled with awe. Not many were worthy of the gift Thranduil had bestowed upon him for Thranduil had opened his halls to him, his knowledge and the sacredness of the stone he stood under. Bard understood, if not completely, at least partially that Thranduil was showing trust and respect he held for Bard. After all one thing that Thranduil treasured the most was his kingdom and his people.

“You honor me greatly,” Bard said in disbelief. Thranduil smiled vaguely. 

“I thought sensitivities were lost on men. How wonderful to see that is not the case completely.” Thranduil said amusement coloring his words as he all but shoved Bard into a chair and put a goblet of white in his hand.

Bard felt overwhelmed. He felt his soul shaking inside of him, as if pieces of it wanted to separate from him and run among the faux stars. He felt enlightened and charmed at once and Bard knew it would be dangerous for him to stay there longer than necessary.

Thranduil sat then, opposite to him but still very close. “How have you been?” 

For such a simple question Bard had not predicted to leave the elvenking’s mouth but they rang true with concern and Bard had not the face to reply with lies. 

“Fine, mostly.” Bard said, collecting his thoughts. “I’m busy but it is always good to have something to keep yourself occupied with, to keep your brain sharp and working. Tiredness is just the result of a job well done.”

“Bard, you do not look tired,” the Elvenking said. “You look like a stampede ran over you.”

Bard frowned and put his goblet down. “It was not in my intention to make you concerned.”

“It was not my intention to be having this talk with you, I think you of all people know how important is to keep your strength with you at all times. You have duties yes, and you have a family, and soon you will have a kingdom. You understand this.” Thranduil said.

“I know. It isn’t that I spend my energy too much, I too know my limits. I just feel it is sapped away against my will most of the time.” Bard replied honestly. He had not thought it anything related to his abilities but, he thought, there was a reason why he felt like all bonds were separated from him when he entered Thranduil’s Halls. Why he felt so much livelier and more energetic for the short walk to the throne than he had been feeling in the past month. Why he felt clean when he walked under the roof of the podium and why now he felt it was cleaning him still. Bard regretted not being able to see his own neck then, just to be certain it was that and not him losing his mind.

He had always been steady, always realistic. Always hoped because he could see the truth. The truth now was that he was scared and even more scared how well he had been covering up his true feelings. It all came out in front of Thranduil however and Bard knew then that he could not hide anything from the elf, not then not ever. Perhaps the scariest of all was how he was not bothered by that fact at all.

“I do not want to lose myself in work and lose my head in the process, this clarity the battle brought me, this finality of what I must do. It was something I craved for a long time Thranduil, finding purpose and waiting for my chance. I thought I was going to die and not see anything good come to pass, die cold in a forsaken city Laketown used to be under Master’s thumb. You were the first one who told me what was going to happen, you were the one who warned me and perhaps unintentionally I’ve been preparing ever since. I want to see my people restore what was once theirs and live as they once did, happy and content. Everything that’s been happening as of late however,” Bard sighed shaking his head. “It’s been blurring my lines and I have an urge just to stop. To stop and breathe and not feel as if something’s constantly urging me to go.”

Thranduil listened intently and did not even for a moment show in any way he was making light of Bard and his feelings. That was something Bard always respected in Thranduil in the end, he and his people rarely talked of emotions but they listened and they understood. 

“You underestimate yourself Dragonslayer,” Thranduil said suddenly addressing him with one of his titles. “Many people would have succumbed to their desires or pains, their feeling of helplessness but you did not. There are many types of strenght Bard and the one of the inside is much more important than any strengths our bodies hold.”

Thranduil stood then, his blue robes shifting around him as he walked around the table. “It is not weakness to request rest, after all we need it, man or elf. The world is calling for you and what you need is to rest and answer it’s call when you’re ready. It will still undoubtedly be waiting for you.”

Thranduil stood next to him and with a quirk of his lips tried to comfort Bard. He pushed Bard’s goblet back into his hand and gestured him to drink. 

Once Bard was finished Thranduil poured again and by the end of it all Bard felt much more pleasantly buzzed. He wanted to comment on how Thranduil always made him drunk when he was being serious but instead it came out as garbled nonsense and something about the clearness.

“It is the nature of this chamber to make you feel as if you are completely exposed. It is the purity that we elves love,” Thranduil said wrily, “that makes others feel unbalanced if they ever tainted themselves with wrongdoing.” 

His hand slid across the smooth stone table engraved with vines. “Here you can say anything and be forgiven.”

Why then, Bard wondered, would the Elvenking take him to such a place. Bard had nothing to confess, nothing he could not trust Thranduil with. 

“It is not hard to be honest with you.” Bard said to Thranduil instead. “It is, in the end, quite useless to lie to you. You would only be angry and the last thing I want is to make you cross with me or lose your trust.”

Thranduil inclined his head and Bard thought it was a gesture of thanks.

They sat for what felt the longest time before Thranduil seemed to have another topic he wanted to talk about.

“I assume that you will be rebuilding Dale sooner rather than later.” The Elvenking inquired.

“It is time.” Bard nodded simply, thinking of the way he had been called to Dale’s ruins. Thranduil seemed to understand what Bard meant all the same.

“You will then take your throne.” Thranduil stated and Bard nodded again. “Naturally. The state of Dale will be such that we will need most of the year to rebuild it. I was in the ruins only days before Your envoy arrived and I’ve seen the complete of ruin. After it’s rebuilt we’ll have another stronghold in Middle-Earth and another city for Men to settle into.” 

“Why do you mention a stronghold?” Thranduil asked, his gaze cutting and as serious as it had been years ago while staring Gandalf down with distaste.

And Bard wondered, why indeed had he first thought of it as a stronghold before a settlement. War was behind them, the ugly screeches of it lay in the memory he would soon forget. He knew that peace would live in these parts for his lifetime, he felt it. But still he felt a pull to the east and to the south. A horrible twisting feeling that perhaps was the reason of his uneasiness. For the longest time Bard felt more and more connected to the people, the nature the realm. Birds carried him word of season changes, of storms and rain, the ozone in the air of lightning storms and thunder battles happening miles and miles away. Sometimes he would feel the ground shake and wonder if he was going crazy, felt the river carry him to where he was needed most whispering lost knowledge in his ear in the intangible language of the earth, so ancient only his being could understand.

He wondered if elves always felt like this for or because of the centuries they’ve lived connected to the earth. Wondered if Thranduil would not find him crazy if he confessed about his ability, would not pull away from him like many did. Bard had spoken to him freely on many occasions where he’d forgotten to use milder language and could have even revealed his abilities had he not realized sooner. Thranduil seemed indifferent to it however and Bard was sure that if he told Thranduil that it just felt right he would respect his thoughts as well.

 

“I will die soon.” Bard said with clarity. Thranduil looked at him in alarm and Bard smiled knowing he came on a bit too strong. “I did not mean in matter of weeks rest assured. To me it will seem the longest time but to the matters of the world and to you it will be happen shockingly quick. There will be piece.” Bard braved on, speaking in facts he’d come to learn were true. “But there will always be darkness. I may not be the one who will fight it but there has to be a legacy. There has to be hope.”

“So it’s insurance,” Thranduil said not completely satisfied with Bard’s answer.

“It’s more of a gambit really.” Bard smiled again, drawing out another chair for Thranduil to finally sit in. With a gentle hand on his shoulder Thranduil settled next to Bard. 

“Perhaps the new walls are going to stay strong for however long it takes the darkness to manifest or they will fall first. Maybe there won’t be walls in the future at all.” Bard explained.

“The time of the elves passed a long time ago.We are still standing strong but we are faltering. We will sail. Can you still place your bet knowing this?” Thranduil turned his head then in a direction where, Bard was certain, the shores he and his people came from were. He had utmost certainty in his words that Bard could never have.

Whenever the Elvenking spoke of the shore, whenever he spoke of the future Bard felt an overwhelming sadness pass through him. Thranduil always looked strong and it was as if instead of him at times, Bard was feeling for him. As if he was absorbing his sadness when he could not his sin.

They sat like that in the gazebo until Bard could feel the warmth of noon filter alongside sunshine into the cavern and he sighed. “It is in the end the only thing I can do.” Bard admitted. “But a fighting chance is I think, the only thing one needs to fashion his own destiny.”

“And you can offer that?” Thranduil asked. “Are you certain?”

“I can try but I am as always certain of nothing until the time is right. I just want to try and make something of what is given to me. I want to help.”

“Then rest here.” Thranduil said insistently. “You want to help yes but you also need to help yourself first.”

“You know I cannot accept your offer.” Bard smiled tiredly. “They will want me back as soon as possible.” 

“You can and you will. You only have time to do it now.” Thranduil replied, face stern. It did not last long however. Thranduil gave him another smile, faint and entirely too charming, before standing up. 

They walked back, Thranduil not acknowledging any kind of protests Bard had, directing him into chambers and through corridors with a soft touch to his arm or hand. 

In the end Bard stayed.  
-

Thranduil could not always be with him as he had to tend to his kingdom, but he did visit for their late night chats that they became so accustomed to on the battlefield. Bard did not mind. It seemed that Thranduil was set on pampering him, organizing his days in a mixture of light food, comfortable bats and soaks, music and light promenading. And on nights when Thranduil was with him, more than talking, Bard just soaked in Thranduil’s calming presence and Thranduil let him with a few snide and rather sarcastic remarks of his embarrassing words from three years passed. 

“If only everyone was as easily satisfied as you.” Thranduil said on one occasion, probably as a remark on some kind of dealing he could not just solve with a command. Bard huffed out a small laugh. “You would be surprised.”

“Oh?” Thranduil had said before quirking an eyebrow, eyes sparkling wickedly. 

Bard for the first time in years felt his cheeks flush with warmth and he was certain with color. It seemed to be a gift of the Elvenking to make him embarrassed whenever he saw him one way or the other. And if Thranduil had the grace to pretend not to notice he certainly didn’t use it this time, instead laughing quietly into his hand that he was leaning his head on.

Bard stuttered and wondered if he’d ever been so flustered in his life. No, certainly not.

It was one of those night when it was entirely too late and they were entirely too drunk and too comfortable with each other to do anything else but lie on the stupid bed Bard had accidentally fallen on in his dizzy struggle. It was not as if the chair he’d been sitting into was that far away, actually only a few steps from the table and it was only testament to how much they’d drunk that Thranduil started laughing. It wasn’t a strong laugh nor a loud one but it still was a laugh nonetheless. Bard was also certain that he would have never allowed himself this back home, to be this relaxed and this drunk, and he definitely wouldn’t have the gall to be with someone because ‘their presence was calming’. It would have a completely different meaning if said to a man or a woman in his house and it would not be true. Thranduil was in the end, the only one that could have him like this- relaxed and drunk and perhaps too content.

Thranduil who still sat gracefully in his chair, the faintest shade of pink coloring his skin, mouth still parted in a smile. Bard privately thought that smiling suited Thranduil much more than his usual indifference. 

Thranduil emptied his cup while Bard managed to sit up with his back to the headboard and this time he reached for water instead for wine. Thranduil only just swaying got up and opened the door of their room so fresh air would pour in. Then he sat down back into his chair but not before shifting it so he was facing Bard. He took his goblet and drank. Bard watched with slight fascination and managed not to say anything. 

“Once you become a king I’m afraid we won’t be seeing much of each other at all.” Thranduil said fondly and Bard thought that he would hate that more than anything.   
“There will be times and occasions.” Bard reassured. 

Thranduil looked at him with a stare Bard could not quite understand. 

“My dear dragonslayer, time waits for noone.” Thranduil said and he froze for a full moment before standing up, too sudden for Bard’s liking. “It is late, I should be going.”

“Thranduil.” Bard called alarmed and Thranduil turned from the door he reached too quickly. “Time may not wait but there is, all the same, the right moment for everything. Everything happens when it’s meant to happen, when we call upon it or when we cause it. There must be repercussions for every action and non-action alike.”

Thranduil stared at him before his face relaxed. “Don’t get wise on me dragonslayer, I thought that was my part.”

“I am not wise.” Bard frowned. “I just- know.”

“Yes.” Thranduil nodded, opening the doors. In a swirl of lavender he was already outside the doors. “Goodnight Bard, you should rest soon as well.” The Elvenking said before closing Bard’s door.

-

Bard stayed for a week. It was as much as he could afford or allow himself to rest. He reveled in Thranduil’s presence and hated being parted from the peace that his halls offered but such was life. Thranduil had kept off of the wine after that night but they still talked and he still behaved like himself and Bard found he was relaxing once more. He thought he’d offended Thranduil in some way but it ended up being nothing. Thranduil even allowed him to browse through his library when he was absent and while Bard could not understand half of the things written in the books it was still fulfilling to watch the beautiful Sindarin script change forms when there were different authors.

He had half the mind to see if there was anything about his situation there though he doubted that the elves would take time to record thought of ordinary men who claimed they could see ropes around people’s necks. They would certainly have thought them delusional if that ever happened and as most books were in Sindarin it was a lost cause. That of course didn’t mean he did not try- just that he didn’t find anything. 

He could not confess to Thranduil either. He feared Thranduil would think him ill or delusional. It felt too much like he was giving himself away even though Thranduil was perhaps his most trusted friend. He certainly would trust his life in the Elvenking’s hands much like when he’d given the elf his forefathers’ necklace. It was a piece of jewelry made for Man’s aesthetic, not the least subtle like the elves liked it to be. Thranduil had accepted them in the end. Bard knew only Thranduil could do the gems justice, he had never been a man for pretty rocks and precious metals as it turned out. 

Once he returned, dressed in elvish clothes Thranduil had insisted upon and simple plaits Thranduil had woven into his hair while making fun of him the whole while, he set in motion his plans for rebuilding Dale. 

It was a matter of setting up a meeting with Dain as Bard needed his and his people’s support and expertise much like he needed them for Laketown. But Dale would be built of rock and as such Bard knew at least the dwarves would like working there. 

A fortnight away he was sat in Erebor’s large meeting hall and sniffed at suspiciously. Bard wondered if they could smell Thranduil on him, they were certainly trying to.

“I’ve heard that the elves had spirited you away.” Dain said, prodding, his distaste for elves ever present.

“King Thranduil had summoned me, yes.” Bard explained tersely. “For the exact same purpose we sit here today if I may add.”

Bard still had Thranduil’s plaits in his hair. He’d tried to undo them but they were so finely done and thin that it was a nightmare to try to even loosen them. Bard pondered how exactly Thranduil made them like that, considering Bard was pretty sure he was drunk by end of his visits (again) and Bard was too tired to fend him off. In the end he’d just let Sigrid mask them a bit until they had time to sit down and undo them.

“Oh? What does that Wood sprite care about Dale? He never mixed with anything outside his own kingdom.” Dain asked suspiciously. “Are you sure he didn’t have some other plans?”

Bard was fairly certain that even if Thranduil had any plans other than providing Bard with rest and plenty of sleep (and plenty of wine) they would have been hidden from him. Despite his more relaxed attitude he had through Bard’s visit, he knew Thranduil was nothing but serious and begrudgingly intelligent. 

“I am certain that Lord Thranduil has his reasons, the same way anyone else does. But he is a friend and at least, I know he means no ill will.” Bard replied curtly. “And as Lord Thranduil is not with us, we should rather talk of something other than him.”

Dain grumbled something under his breath but in the end complied. Bard hoped that Dain did not hold it against him but the dwarf did not seem to mind as soon as they started talking construction. It really took no time at all to make plans and sketches. Bard was adamant on keeping the original structure of the city and its style. It was different than dwarvish and elvish design but by Dain’s words, it was different from regular Men design as well saying they usually built in wood. Bard knew only Gondor to be built of stone but Gondor was once the white city, the King’s city. It would be hard to compare the two.

In the end they settled the matter and awaited for the first signs of good weather to start. 

-

The sparrows brought word of rains from south and grouses of clear weather from the north. The Mirkwood on the west was silent though the woods, as a natural barricade, rarely let the western winds bring any kind of bad weather. East was silent for a whole other reason Bard didn’t want to think about. Then there were dwarves moving toward Dale, what seemed like a whole legion of them. 

Bard lost the track of time somewhere between the malfunction of the rock-lifters and the appearance of Thranduil’s elves that were sent as a helping hand and a good gesture towards Bard. A completely unnecessary gesture Bard thought, but welcome nonetheless. They stayed in Laketown in the Town Hall that was re-built to welcome guests and they set out with Bard and his men on the morrow towards Dale.  
Dwarves came from Erebor on their horses and when they were all there it was just the matter of making groups and following the plan set out for the day that Bard and Dain made the previous night.   
Nothing exciting happened for the longest time and reparations were being done right on schedule. Dain was least to say, Bard thought, content. 

It was reaching the end of summer when there was the slightest shift of air that Bard misunderstood as coming of rain. The wind carried the same scent and the clouds were forming as if an outpour was coming from the east.   
The dwarves were making last adjustments thought Dale had been habitable for at least a month now. They had refused any help for the last weeks, even going so far to request Bard stopped coming himself. Bard could not concur with their requests, his place was right there in Dale, shoulder to shoulder with them. The elves were no exception of course but while they were on strict command and their leader was not there to command them they ignored whatever requests dwarves made and made their own adjustments. As soon as dwarves had realized the elves were going nowhere they begrudgingly gave them assignments and elves followed smoothly. They said nothing about the dwarves that did not let Bard into certain parts of the castle trying to trick him to fall back or simply stating he could not go through. Bard didn’t know which one was worse.  
It came to no surprise that Erebor was unavailable when Bard visited. They turned him around like he was a common beggar. Bard tried to be patient but as time dragged on his patience wore thin and not for the lack of trying. He did not know what was happening in his own kingdom and Dain did nothing to explain. If it had gone on longer Bard wasn’t sure what he would have done but as it was, it became clear the moment he stepped into Dain’s tent and the dwarf in front of him was decidedly not Dain.

Dressed in blues and yellows, gold adoring her chest and ears, in the center of the tent next to a table stood Lady Dis of Durin. She did not turn, but she knew it was him all the same- perhaps because of the commotion he’d caused outside before inevitably entering the tent.

“You finally honor me with you presence, Dragonslayer.” She said dryly, shifting some papers on the table she was looking over. 

It gave him enough momentum to compose himself. To think it over, to draw a conclusion. 

“My apologies, my Lady. I did not know you were here.” Bard replied politely. 

“Oh?” Dis said, finally straightening and turning towards him. “Peculiar.”

Bard bowed and she allowed him to kiss her hand. 

“I heared that you offered my brother’s company place to stay in Laketown and when the fool of the boy got shot and poisoned that you let them in again.” Dis said, eyes too clever peering at him. “And that you were most vocal about them not going to the mountain.”

“Landed me in jail, if I recall.” Bard replied.

Dis looked at him with a piercing gaze. “No. You changed your mind the moment you learned of their goal, so that must mean you knew of the prophecy or at least the danger of waking Smaug. What more, you believed in it and you do not strike me as a easily faithful man.” 

“When I first heard of the prophecy I did not believe that it would come to be in my lifetime. Things do not always go the way we want them to as it were.” Bard said once again, tip toing around the topic.

Dis did not smile but her mouth twisted into something that should have been a smirk. It looked more sad and painful than anything else.

“You fought side by side with Thorin?” She asked, gesturing for him to take a seat at the table. 

“No, I was in Dale while he, Dain and a part of elf army were in the valley. They separated our troops and I had to go to Dale, Thranduil followed.” Lady Dis took two cups and filled them with mead. It was honey gold color and the taste was warm and sweet. It brought memories of Thranduil’s wine and his great halls, though, he remembered, his wine was a whole deal stronger than what he was drinking. 

“Quite a surprise that.” Dis said conversationally siting as well. “Never thought Lord Thranduil of all people would come to help. He and his people are deeply insular.”

“Not to mention not very fond of the dwarves. No offence.” Bard added quickly. “But that doesn’t mean he did not do the right thing.”

“The right thing? He went to war over jewels and gold. He led an army against a company of thirteen. That he did in the end, help us against the orcs, doesn’t excuse him.” Dis said seriously and Bard felt his smile fall, one he didn’t even know he was giving.

“The last thing Thranduil wanted was gold, it is what I wanted that Thorin denied, breaking his word. He led an army against a deranged dwarf who insulted him and broke his word and still held his heirloom. Above that, he led an army against a deranged dwarf with the same dragon sickness that took his predecessors, who was obsessed with the Hearth of the Mountain. If Thorin had not come to himself the Arkenstone would have consumed him with the same kind of darkness that tainted it in the first place. And then Erebor would fall.” By the end of his speech Bard heard pounding in his ears and was wondering, exactly why Dis was smiling at him. He was certain that he’d been more than rude from the start, albeit not intentionally.

“Has Lord Thranduil been tutoring you?” She asked and oh, the look on her face was absolutely wicked.

“I’ve- spent a week at his insistence in the kingdom.” Bard deflated a bit confused. “But that has nothing to do with what we were talking about.”

Dis drank her own mead and did not reply.

“So you think that this whole thing shouldn’t have happened? The company, everything.” She said after a moment.

Bard looked at her wearily. Tried to remember the days of almost three years passed. 

“Mithrandir- Gandalf,” Bard clarified just in case. “Said that they were not supposed to reach Erebor, that an expedition of orcs was sent to stop them though the elves had taken care of those.”

“That doesn’t answer the question.” Dis said not unkindly. Bard knew.

“I think that it was perhaps time for something to happen. Eyes had been looking at the Lonely Mountain for a long time, longer- the dragon slept within. If it wasn’t Thorin than it would have been someone else, much much worse and Smaug knew that he could not keep the plunders of Erebor forever, that much was evident. In the end, everything happens in it own time rushed or not. It is up to us not to think if it’s the right time for one thing or the other- it’s up to us to do it. Only history then, can tell if it was the right time.”

“So you’re saying, do whatever and see what happens?” Dis said almost screeching in disbelief.

“I’m saying- do something. Do it right and do it with right reasons. After that only future can tell.” Bard replied seriously.

“What if the reasons are wrong?” She inquired though, he had a feeling she knew.

Bard smiled. “Do what you think is right, it is up to others to try to persuade you to change your mind or make you see that there are other options. It is up to you as well to comply or not comply. Thorin for example, thought his cause was just. I thought it was madness. I either failed to convince him of my opinion or his mind was thoroughly made up to do anything. We both had very good argument on our sides but we both did what we thought was right. After that, I was prepared to deal with the consequences.”

“The consequences being Smaug burning your town, your people dying, him denying you your right to gold, his death? And you do not blame him at all?” Dis pointed out, leaning into her chair, though her tone was not as serious.

“I killed the dragon didn’t I?” Bard smiled weakly. “I am not saying that I wasn’t angry. It was bloody well stupid and irrational, and I felt more betrayed than anything after he turned me away at the gates. He chose almost certain destruction of Laketown so he could have his mountain and did not honor his word to help rebuilt it, even help the people, and then he called for help Dain so he would fight his battle while he sat in his halls and waited for the outcome. He ignored how the rest of the company felt until the very end, even tried to kill Master Bilbo. But. He was also the only one who tried to take the mountain, who believed his cause was just as did the others, he cared far more for them than he let on and the result of him taking the mountain is that in the end, Erebor still stands, you and Dain are here and Laketown and Dale are functioning as they once did long ago. The result of his action was that a lot of people died but that we also gained a stronghold, an ally, a once more prosperous life.   
Perhaps if he was still alive, he would see this, but his death, killing Azog, freed him of the taint of his misdeeds. His-”

At that moment Bard remembered. Had he not seen the ropes around the neck of the company? Was he not able to see lies that Thorin spoke to the Master and the people, that led to Bard speaking his mind and protesting against him? He was able to see them once just like he was able to see human nooses all the same. How was it then, that he could not see the one around Dis’ neck or the neck of any other dwarf?

“Master Bard?” He could hear Dis say but the ringing in his ears was too loud- it was deafening. He was looking at the floor but not realy, eyes wide, images were once more flashing before him, white light and darkness- so much darkness- twisting and filling one another. He thought he saw faces, faces of old and grey, but it was too quick, he could not focus.

Lady Dis said something then, Bard wasn’t sure what over the ringing but it sounded sharp and jagged like the cries of the battle, and all of the sound and images retreated into his mind, snapping him back into the tent.   
Dis spoke again in the language of her people before saying, “Master Bard? Quite alright?” She peered worriedly into his face. He could feel sweat rolling down his temples and he realized he’d been gripping the arms of his chair with a death grip.  
Bard breathed, for a moment just took in air and exhaled everything else that bottled inside of him before letting go. 

“Yes. Apologies.” Bard replied curtly. He rubbed his temples- feeling light pulsing still there.

He heard Dis pouring the mead and then she ushered his cup into his hand, telling him to drink.

“You lot,” Bard says wryly, thinking Thranduil always made him drink whenever something unpleasant was happening, but he drank nonetheless.

“What did you say?” Bard asked, minutes later when he was much more composed and color was returning to his skin. Dis had sat and waited for him to come down from his high and drink his mead before pouring more. “When I was- what did you say that brought me back, if I may known?”

Dis looked at her cup, downed her drink and looked at him seriously.

“You know, us Dwarves, we have our language that was given to us by our gods and in that language we have our names- our real names that are known only to us and nobody else. We believe that, if somebody learned of our true name, they could control us.” Dis explained. Bard could hear commotion outside but he did not turn from her, this seemed so much more important.  
Twirling strands of beard from her chin, that must have been a gesture of deep thinking, she was looking at him as if her words conveyed everything. 

“I know.” Bard replied slowly. “My children they- what does that have to do with what you said? I am not a dwarf, and as far as I know, Men do not have that kind of tradition.”

Dis looked at him frowning. “You do not know? How could you not possibly know? You are the descendant of Girion the Lord of Dale are you not?”

For a splendid moment Bard thought her more offended by that then she was when he’d spoken badly of Thorin.

“Yes, that is correct. The arrow that I had since I was a child, that killed Smaug, is proof enough.” Bard answered confused.  
There were more sounds outside now, angry shouting in khuzdul and the sound of many angry, heavy feet coming toward them. 

“And you can understand nature, a gift from your blood, the blood of ancient times and Men of Old. “ Lady Dis nodded as if it was common knowledge. “I called out the name given to your predecessors, the ones who had a similar ability to yours though no egg was quite the same if you understand. I imagine that your parents did not perform the rituals that came when giving the true names- that tradition died in Men a long time ago- but the name of what you are. That is something that stays with you, just like Gandalf is Mithrandir or Tharkun the wizard, you are the urkasbulg.”

The flaps of the tent opened then and Dain’s livid, red face appeared between coils of ginger hair and beard. He stopped as if struck, then went more red and possibly even purple, opening his mouth to what Bard was certain would be a tirade but not a single sound came from him. Not even a peep.   
Dis, for his trouble, just laughed at him and leaned in her chair, relaxed, sloshing the mead she’d poured into her cup again.

“You- him-” Dain gurgled and Dis rolled her eyes.

“Come, join us cousin, we’ve just been talking about Smaug and such. The battle. I presume your kind of expertise, don’t you?” 

Breathing heavily,Dain wheezed something and Dis glimped at Bard before speaking in a much more commanding tone that Dain had for the whole encounter. Then, after a few moments, Dis looked at him almost apologetically and entirely annoyed. “My apologies Master Bard, it seems that you will have to leave, provided you wanted to keep your city and your head.”

Bard looked at her before quickly standing to his feet. “Of course, I am sorry if I held you back in doing something, I did occupy your time unannounced.”

Dis smiled. “Now, now Master Bard. What is with that sudden politeness, or did Thranduil teach you that as well?”

Bard smiled crookedly and not entirely honestly considering he heard, almost a growl leaving Dain’s lips.

“Please excuse me then.” Bard replied and as quickly as he could, got away from the tent and the earshot of anything that might have been said about either him, Thranduil, or his city. 

-

Bard slept fitfully and his days were restless. He had work to do, of course he had, there were people pouring into the city and autumn was right in its swing with warm days and warmer colors. Yellow and auburn were omnipresent but there were still glimpses of green on oak and birch leaves, pines still kept it’s deep green shade, coloring the water of the Laketown from one side. But around Dale it was all beautiful orange tints and hues that danced well with white and yellow stone of the city. Bard regretted more than once not being able to enjoy the scenery, knew that winter would take it soon- too soon for his liking.   
More than once however, he wondered what Mirkwood looked like then, healthy and fruitful as it certainly was. He wondered if it was passable, if it allowed the elves now more than ever to enjoy in its wealth. Thranduil had certainly replaced his crown with the one of red berries, at the whif of fall, Bard was certain, and his green and blue robes to the metallic silvers and golds. Connected to the forest as he was, Bard was certain that soon, Thranduil would once again close the doors to his happiness in exchange for winter’s harshness and bitterness. It was curious how the seasons affected the Elvenking, even more curious how Bard wanted to be there and see that change.

Perhaps if he had the time he would have enough guts for a visit, perhaps if he wasn’t so stubbornly stupid he would have even stayed for a few days, got the rest he desperately needed and went back. He did not however even indulge in the little imagination of the rest he could, preoccupied with securing their stocks for winter, forming trading pacts and deals, getting settled in the new housing.

His children loved it, each got their own room, Tilda finally grown enough to want her own privacy, they had both a front and a back yard and enough guest rooms for a couple of dozen. The kitchens were ridiculous so as was the number of staff they had to keep the castle maintained but Bard guessed, their house would serve something like the Town Hall in Laketown did. The armory, the safe rooms, everything was thought out perfectly.   
It was, however, a bit sad that they had to think of war first and of comfort later however much they matched each other in the castle.

There was even whispers of coronation but Bard still felt ill adapted for that, perhaps after the winter, when he thawed along with the snow.

Lady Dis had returned to the Blue Mountains along with her entourage a fortnight after their encounter but she still had two more meeting with him, under a watchful eyes of Dain or his soldiers. It was ridiculous and downright stuffy but Bard was not going to say anything to the dwarf, they were all stubborn and unaccustomed to change.  
Dis, for her part, was as much of a lady as she could be and she shared wisdom with him as much as she could. She did not seem to have such a strong distaste toward elves as Dain did, even teased Bard like a child about defending them, all the while eyeing his plaits. Bard complained- she said that he should cut them off if he hated them so much and then laughed at him distressed expression.   
It was enjoyable being in her company and Bard was infinitely grateful they did not revisit the end of their first conversation. He was afraid she knew, perhaps she really did but he did not know and it was for the best if he never learned. If she knew it would mean it was real and if it was real it meant he had to do something about it, had to find a cure or find a way to use it and he didn’t want to share it with anyone, not yet. It was too personal, perhaps the one thing he had that was his own since he was a child. 

Nonetheless, despite his efforts she still, in the end, mentioned it thought it was in passing. She had been saying goodbye, up on her pony and a travelling cloak on her back. She smiled and poked his forehead right in the middle, saying the same words she used to describe him. 

“Be good, Bard,” she said as if he was still a lad, whispered more khuzdul to him and sat back on her pony beaming. “May Valar protect you.”

Bard nodded in thanks and he was certain he could see the noose around her neck gain shape. A trick of light, he thought, nothing more. And it was nothing more until they started gaining shape one after another,as time passed and they were heading more into winter. Greys and charcoals once more around him. It was a novelty for the first few weeks until he realized, he was back to being himself, back to being surrounded by people whose sins he could see, whose lies danced before his eyes and materialized. It was wonderful until he could see just how much those around him were tainted, just how much trust he’d placed in whom.

It was shocking, it was waking but it was also taking his refuge and placing it in Thranduil’s hands once again. Hands of elves who could not, as he felt, betray him quite the same way. 

His ability, at least, allowed him to form better deals, even make him a bit of a reputation as all seeing but he was not, he could just see a part of one’s soul if it even existed. He could just see.

Thranduil, through his letters, made quite a bit of fun of him and urged him to not looked at the world as darkly as he was doing. The Elvenking did not know about him but he still gathered how he felt through words Bard could write him and allowed himself to write. Emotions, as Bard comprehended, were not his strong suit, even while divulging them to a friend.  
Soon, Bard knew, they would have to stop writing to each other as Thranduil would close his gates against the forest and the snows would be too hard on messengers to carry the letters. For that reason Bard tried to send fewer letter which was only met with double more from Thranduil. It made him laugh, of all things, how Thranduil was having none of his antics and how the letters were purposefully too long to even have a deeper meaning other than blaber and cited poetry.

Perhaps if Bard was having his regular eight, he would have even found it endearing. As it were, he was having headaches and familiar pulsing in his temples, migraines and coughs. He was feeling faint, rarely, and he found himself losing track of thought though he saw no images, saw no visions.  
It irked him how he could do nothing but fight through it, how he could not understand what was happening.   
Was it because of his ability or was it simply illness of the mind, the normal kind, that scared Bard more than anything. 

Whatever it was it lasted well through winter and spring, so much so Bard forgot about his gaining another year under his belt, forty six, this time. And it spun and corroded him well through the new year.   
There were good days, when he was outside and it was crisp and green and Sigrid was walking with him, almost a woman now. When Bain was harping on about disproportionate weight of something or other because of different materials used in its making or when Tilda was having her first temper tantrums. Perhaps tantrums were not pleasant but, more often than not, they ended in blanket forts and puppy piles. It was all quite embarrassing, Tilda would say.

Then there were times when a messenger from Mirkwood would arrive, carrying a letter or a parcel. With letters came small blue flowers and white snowdrops, purple bells of hyacinth and small branches of rosemary. With parcels came nuts and different kinds of sweet breads that Bard shared with his children. It was always similar to the taste of the ones Thranduil gave him so long ago, after their first or second meeting, Bard wasn’t sure anymore.   
It was wonderful all the same and Bard felt bad for not always remembering to send something as well. It took his mind off of business he knew he had to attend to but that only served to make him tired along with his migraines. 

He did not have a coronation that year but he had the next, when he was forty seven and dressed in maroon reds embroidered with gold. As if always went there was the ceremony and then there was the celebration which in few hours turned from proper to blatant drunkenness and disregard. Bard did not try to discourage it even though he knew it would only give him a big headache in the morning. Dain drank and ate before being dragged off to the impromptu dance floor with a few lasses that, Bard secretly though, were under the guidance of Sigrid’s hand.  
It left Bard with Thranduil, seated on Bard’s right at the main table looking regal and distant as he always was when in public. It did take a few bottles of good vintages but Thranduil relaxed soon enough, even smiling on an occasion or two. Meeting Thranduil again, after such a long time, had merits of their own, for one Bard had his undivided attention and comfort of his presence, as did Thranduil his and they could secretly make fun of those around him. 

And because they had barely moved out of their seats, after a while barely even drank, that they were suddenly the last ones that weren’t passed out or sleeping, instead just pleasantly buzzed.   
It turned to be a lie however, at least for Bard, because the moment he stood he felt a flash of dizziness and he would have fallen if there wasn’t a strong hand around his shoulder. Oh, he thought looking up at Thranduil with his pink flushed face and mirthful eyes.

“We should- retire to our chambers.” Thranduil said, lifting the bottle they’ve been drinking from and promptly deeming it full enough to take along. Bard laughed nodding along and they made their dizzying descent from the main table, through the hall, and into the west wing of the castle.   
It took a bit of handling and a bit more resting, but they eventually made it to Bard’s chamber. When they were inside Thranduil pushed him on the bed with less harshness than Bard had expected. 

“There’s your bad, happy now?” Thranduil said and oh, he was much drunker than Bard had thought.

Bard turned and watched Thranduil plop off his bulky robe before undoing the clasps of his grey-silver robe and promptly sitting on his pillow. It was a scene Bard had seen more than a dozen times but it was still funny how indignant Thranduil looked. Bard thought, looking at Thranduil like this, he seemed more real than he when he was in arm’s reach at the table.

“Of course. And I don’t have any goblets here so you’re going to have to drink from the neck.” Bard replied, garbled and too tired to move. He was at least certain of Thranduil’s disgusted face. 

“Um no.” Thranduil replied, shaking off his boots and then sighing before nudging Bard to do the same. 

Bard complied, albeit slowly.“What, I’m not going to feed it to you. Just drink.” 

Thranduil did take a swing then and Bard sighed crawling up the bed to rest his head on the other pillow. It was pleasantly cold and Bard sighed relaxing.

“I’m going to smell of wine tomorrow.” Thranduil said, not exactly complaining. 

“Never bothered you before.” Bard turned towards him before laughing at Thranduil’s blank stare. “What, it didn’t!”

“Not the point.” Thranduil said smiling before pressing the bottle into Bard’s hand. He had to do a crunch up and almost missed his mouth but Bard managed to take a deep gulp.  
He passed the bottle back and got manhandled to rest his head onto Thranduil’s leg for his trouble. Then, Thranduil turned him and Bard groaned in protest but Thranduil just told him to shut up.

“You whine exquisitely...just like a babe.” Thranduil laughed at him, running his fingers through Bard’s hair, choosing a strand to start working on. 

“I can say the same about you.” Bard shot back, looking at Thranduil’s crossed ankles. 

“Yes but you don’t.” Thranduil replied beginning to braid his hair. Bard wasn’t sure how much time passes after that because he was suddenly too tired and too comfortable to move, passing between being conscious and not. 

“No I don’t.” Bard finally replied, not daring to move.

Thranduil hummed and if Bard imagined his hands stopped moving for a moment, or if they lingered on his face when he was choosing another strand of hair it remained that- imagination. And when Thranduil was finished, deeming Bard finally agreeable Bard took Thranduil’s hand on impulse and kissed it. 

There was a silent moment and then there was Thranduil’s voice, sounding much deeper than before but not angry. “You should sleep.” 

“Hmm.” Bard replied sleepily and was about to turn when Thranduil’s hand stopped him, keeping him in the view of the chamber doors and his legs but not his face.

Instead, Thranduil said. “It’s okay, you can fall asleep like this. Rest.” 

“Thranduil?” Bard said and for a moment he thought he was going to ask something , perhaps if anything was wrong but then he really did feel to tired. Sleep didn’t come cheap to him after all. So instead he said, “Thank you.” Feeling Thranduil cards his fingers through his hair once more.

-

They did not speak of it but they rarely did speak of their drunken stupors and rash behaviour. It was an unsaid rule as much as it was keeping each other’s secrets secret. But perhaps Bard crossed the line, another unspoken rule he wasn’t aware of. Thranduil didn’t seem any different in the morning than before, distant, beautiful, ethereal. He gave Bard the first good rest in what seemed months though he did not bother to take his robe when he’d left that night. It made an interesting conversation starter with Sigrid, one Bard wasn’t keen on revisiting. 

Still, it was soon that the Elvenking had to depart again, giving him a squeeze on the hand and pressing a gem into his hand. It was beautiful and purple, rough and natural. Thranduil said it was for protection, Bard thought perhaps Thranduil had noticed his tiredness after all. He thought he had masked it well but of course it was in Elvenking’s ability to nice. Bard was just thankful Thranduil hadn’t felt offended Bard tried to trick him.   
At least Bard had time to talk with him, about what Lady Dis had said, about the strange happening. Bard felt himself open up more to Thranduil than before and it scared him because Thranduil did not have the complete picture but still kept Bard as his friend. If Thranduil had stayed longer maybe Bard would have told him everything. Maybe.

The visions did not leave him however, even after three years, still just flashes, still just loud noise and high pitched screaming. It exhausted him. It was even worse that Bard seemed to lose his appetite more often than not, always at terrible timing when they had guests and royal dinners, when he had to entertain but could not even drink a sip of water. The ropes turned more ominous, they seemed to pulse now and carried a steady thrum within them. They were like strings of faith Bard had read about. They were terrifying and more often than not Bard found some coiled so thickly around a person’s neck, its color began spreading to the person’s skin. 

Other times bard thought he could see more, whiteness and greyness like in the flashes of his vision, ghosts- perhaps of the person’s predecessors or other selves. But that was just Bard’s thinking, the flashes of the being there were so quick they mostly left Bard wondering if they happened at all. 

His behaviour didn’t go unnoticed and Sigrid made it her goal to get him into a better shape. Too pale, she’d said. Too grim. Most of the time Bard tried to not look at her noose and failed not to notice the few shades darker rope.

Bain was discovering the charm of stargazing and astronomy while Tilda was begrudgingly doing her studies and secretly learning how to shoot a bow. It didn’t go past Bard’s notice, her trainer had come to him for approval the moment she had asked to be taught. Bard was just happy she was finally finding something interesting to do. 

As for him he continued to exchange letters with Thranduil, enjoying the bustling city life and try not to collapse too often. 

It would have continued, he thought, had he not fallen sick a month after his coronation.   
Within days Sigrid had packed him up and sent him into Mirkwood, for Thranduil to deal with his sniffling and groaning. Bard thought Thranduil absolutely mad for welcoming him like that, a common cold is what it was. Perhaps encouraged by malnutrition but nothing else. Still, he didn’t complain as much as he could have. It had been too long since he’d seen Thranduil, had spoken to him face to face.

And as he’d imagined Mirkwood looked beautiful even when it was not fall. There were still different browns and greens coloring it, different smells of soil and flowers, fresh and fulfilling. Seeing the white marble of Thranduil’s gates once he was upon them came to no surprise. They fit so beautifully with the forest, similar to the way the elves did.

And when he entered his kingdom, he was led once more through the hallways, a guide two steps in front of him. The sensation Thranduil’s kingdom bore disarmed him as it always did, cleared his mind, sharpened his senses but also comforted. It might have even been funny how Thranduil welcomed him with haste and concern if it wasn’t exactly the same reason that alarmed Bard.   
The elf that guided him to the chamber had enough sense to back away the moment Thranduil’s feet touched the ground because in a swirl of pale green of his robe Thranduil’s hand was on Bard’s shoulder giving him support. 

“Oh, hello.” Bard smiled up at Thranduil though it disappeared when Thranduil’s stern, concerned look didn’t break.

Thranduil looked him over, pressed a hand to his forehead and with alarming speed whisked him away to his chambers. It just made Bard worry because Thranduil never hurried, never forgot his protocol, not even for him. 

“Sigrid over reacted,” Bard said instead of trying to convince Thranduil he was alright. “It’s just a cold, I am not even feverish.”

“A lot of things come with colds.” Thranduil replied, sitting Bard in a chair next to a small table, back to a shelf. Bard realized that they were not in Thranduil’s chambers as much as they were in his apothecary filled with herbs and medicines. Perhaps Bard would have noticed sooner had he been able to smell anything.

Thranduil crushed dried flowers and leaves, mixing them with some kind of fluid Bard wasn’t certain was water. He did not talk to Bard, didn’t even seem to notice him after a few minutes of grinding the herbs so Bard took the liberty of looking over the room once more. 

He’d seen it before of course, had spent time in it reading up on cures and tinctures that were written in common tongue. It was a beautiful library of plants describing their many uses and there were rows and rows of shelves filled with them, books and vials. Some hung from the strangely low ceiling while others grew from small patches of dirt on the glassless windows that surrounded the room like a cobweb and gave it the pretense of privacy. After all, the little apothecary was in the middle of a huge chamber with light reflecting inward into it and the green garden a few feet away.

Thranduil shifted taking Bard’s attention from the room to him once more.   
One large hand Thranduil placed on Bard’s neck, thumb on the pulse point, and with the other he offered Bard the mix he’d been working on. Bard didn’t protest even with, what felt, pure bitterness sliding down his throat. It was perhaps a testament to how much he trusted Thranduil to not even ask what he put in it. 

“Lady Sigrid explicitly stated in her letter that you’ve not been feeling well long before you’ve contracted the cold. This was just the last straw, or so she stated.” Thranduil explained. “And yes, your daughter did in fact send me a letter concerning your degrading health and I must express how much I’m displeased with not hearing it directly from you.”

“I- didn’t want you to know.” Bard confessed and Thranduil looked surprised and then angry. It came too late to Bard that perhaps he should have chosen a different way to say it, to express how he’d been feeling so tired, so heavy for the past year because at the same moment Thranduil looked almost betrayed. Bard had never seen the expression on Thranduil’s face and it was just a slip, just the shock of Bard’s words before he sighed, exasperated. That at least, Bard knew. 

“I assure you I could have it, you didn’t have to think about my sensibilities. Or rather you didn’t.” 

“Your sensibilities are offended right now.” Bard replied but it only got a sniff out of Thranduil.

“Don’t snark me Bard, we are friends when you are not feeling alright you tell me and then we can handle it. Feeling unwell for as long as Sigrid described, and I assume longer because you never complain and just bear it, is not normal. You should have come to me the moment you lost your appetite let alone sleep.” And oh, Bard realized, Thranduil really was angry. Angry with worry.

“I do not want you to pamper me, and truly it is only a cold that I’m suffering from. What Sigrid described were just flashes of tiredness but of course I would be tired while running a kingdom!” Bard said, trying to ease some of Thranduil’s concern.

The Elvenking looked at him, as if trying to understand if Bard was lying or believed in his words himself. Finally, he sighed and put a hand on Bard’s shoulder. 

“I understand but as Sigrid saw it,” Thranduil said softly. “It did not sound like nothing. I can understand not eating, even not drinking, but she also said you sometimes stood in the middle of a room and stare off for minutes. That sometimes you would put your hands over your ears as if you were hearing something she at least could not. And the last time we saw each other yes, perhaps you were indulging but you only ever started eating when it was just the two of us at the table and you felt exhausted. I could sense it rolling off of you even while you were asleep.”

Bard did not know what to say to those words. Thranduil caught him red handed, as it went. It struck him even more that Thranduil would mention that night, he’d thought it was vetoed from being mentioned.

“I-.” Bard sighed and slumped into his seat. “I’ve been tired for so long Thranduil. I don’t know what’s worse always feeling tired or the moments when I felt fine, when I could tell the difference from feeling normal to what I was feeling. Three of my fingers turned numb the other day and I noticed only when I cut myself and felt nothing though I saw I’d drawn blood.”

Bard looked at his knees and his hands on them. He felt Thranduil step closer.   
Another wave of his presence washed over Bard now that he could feel it, and he felt his mind growing numb with sleep as if latching onto every moment of peace he could get to fill in his restless nights.

“I just wanted to fall asleep and not wake up for days but I could handle three, maybe four hours of sleep before I was drawn out, you do not understand how welcome your presence was that night.” Bard said and he felt Thranduil’s other hand on the nape of his neck before it tangled in his hair. It was like putting ice on a simmering burn. Bard didn’t want Thranduil to ever let go.

“It’s a wonder you didn’t collapse.” Thranduil said softly. He was pressing so closely now, Bard was resting his forehead against his belly, still looking at his feet.

It seemed that they didn’t have an urge to speak after that and soon, his breathing evened. Knowingly Thranduil drew back and said. “You can rest here Bard. You know you are always welcome in my halls.”

Bard hummed, already giving way to sleep. He could feel warm hands on his skin and then it was just nothingness- finally.

-

He might have slept through two days. Bard wasn’t sure, stirring in the sheets, momentarily confused by his surrounding. The smell and the dull hum of energy in the air told him safe rest elf and Bard sighed, unwilling to let go of the sleepy haze for another moment.

Somewhere along the line he registered another person’s breathing and he turned, seeing Thranduil leaning against the headboard of the bed. Unconfined by his usual robes, he laid in a brilliantly white undershirt and pants, boots thankfully kicked off. He was reading something, a book nestled between his hands. When Bard stirred he just continued reading until Bard turned towards him.

“Are you better?” Thranduil asked, momentarily closing the book, keeping a finger between the pages he’d been on.

“Yes.” Bard replied, scratching his chin. They were both swimming in sheets and blankets, all fluffy and smelling crisp. “How long was I out?”

“A while.” Thranduil said, deciding to leave the book after all. He put a string where his finger was and then put the buck on the nearby table.

“I was surprised when even loud noise wouldn’t stir you. Or me getting on the bed.” Thranduil said, knowing Bard was nothing if not a light sleeper.

Bard took a deep, lazy breath. He felt too comfortable. 

“You know we will have to talk about this.” Thranduil said conversationally, though not insistently. It was a fact, Bard realized. One not prone to being changed. “Soon.”

Bard nodded. His mind was clearing and then there was no sleepy bliss, there was just reality. Reality that told him he was not as alright as he’d thought he was.

“I’ve felt so...heavy for so long and the weight keeps on building. Even now, here with you I can sense it. Something grabbing onto my back and trying to drag me down.” Bard said with invitation.

“You are pale. “ Thranduil said in answer. “Compared to- even during the war- you look thin as a sheet of paper and white as the walls. Ghostly even. Sleep did not change that.”

Bard sighed and thought of the paleness of the elf in front of him. It certainly was not the same color, Thranduil looked healthy and his skin shone in the relative darkness of the room. Compared to him, Bard was certain, Bard looked the sickly white-green color though he didn’t know what would cause him to look like that. 

After a while Bard sighed once more. “There was something I thought of telling you, perhaps it’s time.”

“I’ve been able to see things since I was a boy.” Bard started once Thranduil made no move to reply other than to look at him openly. “Nooses, hanging around people’s necks, grey in color but in many different shades.”

Thranduil turned towards him, listening intently. There was a slight frown in between his eyebrows but he nodded at Bard to continue. 

“I’ve never seen white even in children, but greys, coals and charcoals. Blacks. All different just as the ropes themselves were different. And when they turned black they would wound around a person’s neck and then the person was no more. I’ve seen- them strangle so many of their owners even while I was a child it was always hard dealing with the person’s death afterwards. And it wasn’t always the same, the person wouldn’t just keel over. Fights, choking, death by fire- everything counted as a material reason for their demise.” Bard closed his eyes. He didn’t like thinking about just how many people he’d seen die, strangled on their nooses even though he knew, objectively, they’d died from something else. Sliced by orcs or crushed under them. Crushed from a fall or rock- it was all the same. 

“And after it would turn into dust. Just- blown away by wind.” Bard added. He felt a piercing pain in his stomach but he only groaned softly and shifted where he lay, still turned towards Thranduil.

Thranduil who, for his part still sat silent. Who didn’t react to his words as if Bard was crazy, or in need to throw Bard out. It was good then, Bard thought. Thranduil believed him. 

“I know.” Thranduil finally said, after the nerves got the hang of Bard after all. He’d told himself he wouldn’t be, but it was important for Thranduil to know and really believe him. Really understand.

Bard blanched. “What?”

“I know, rather I had a feeling. You always felt different from other Men, the air around you always shifted and coursed differently. As if you were a maelstrom sucking everything in. And then you told me about what Lady Dis told you.” Thranduil halted. Bard felt as if the floor was breaking under his feet.   
Probably sensing his panic, Thranduil explained. “I did not know of your ability as you described it and I did not mention anything because at first it was just a feeling. Even if I had asked you would have told me nothing.” Thranduil stated not looking insulted at all. “But I did understand once you told me what Lady Dis called you. She’d called you a demon swallower, properly named. You can see- a person’s taint can you not?”

Bard lifted himself from the bed. He felt uncomfortable, this was not a discussion they should have been having in bed. Or rather, it shouldn’t have been going on as calmly as it was.   
Feeling antsy, Bard ran a hand through his hair. 

“I- yeah, I think so.” Bard replied put off.

Thranduil took a deep breath. “Do you think... that it’s perhaps because of your ability that you’re feeling unwell?”

Startled into silence, Bard looked down, at the sheets that were bunching under his knees, and he though. There was no reason for something like that to happen, it was always a one way street with him and his ability. Then, he had to admit, looking at Thranduil. That he didn’t know.

“The only person that ever knew of my ability was my father. I do not know but, I think he didn’t have the ability as well. I don’t know though. I’d never- it’d never affected me outside my ability to see.” Bard said with a frown.

Thranduil nodded. “What Lady Dis said- it wasn’t completely true. Mithrandir is a wizard but he is also one of the old ones, sent by the gods. One of five that keep our realm in balance and fend off darkness. It is their true name- istari- that is what they are. Few people know this Bard. Even I would not have known had my father not left me his notes and ledgers where he wrote down happenings during his days.”

“So...could have he known that I was- what I am?” Bard asked and watched as Thranduil shook his head.

“They are not all knowing and it was not his priority back then. When you looked at him- what did you see?” Thranduil asked. 

Bard tried to remember Thranduil’s tent, a press of cold metal in his hands, Thranduil’s sharp words. “Grey, his noose was grey. It did not waver and it did not change it just stood there as if it was lifeless.” 

Thranduil quirked a smile. “Well, he is called Gandalf the Grey. Perhaps now, with a deeper reason.”

“Thranduil,” Bard said seriously. “Is it possible- can I not be cured?”

The elvenking looked at him and made no reply. Bard sank back to his knees, still on the bed before nodding, accepting what Thranduil was not telling him.

“I think I would like to get dressed now.” Bard said and watched as Thranduil sighed.

He stood, and went to his robes, putting on his maroons. He was ready to leave the room when Thranduil called out to him.

“Thank you, for telling me. I would have not said anything if you hadn’t mentioned it first.” Thranduil said but did not try to go near him. Bard was grateful, he felt strung up. He was afraid he would have done something stupid if Thranduil had touched him.   
“I will do everything to help you, you must understand that.” Looking at Bard, chest puffed out and stance ready for assault, Thranduil stood in the darkness and was illuminated just by his own glow. 

“Thank you.” Bard said, and pushed the chamber doors, walking out.

-

 

Bard realized the fifth day of his stay that the elves were shining more than usual.   
Ordinarily it was just Thranduil and as far as Bard could remember Legolas, but the pure light started passing to others illuminating their skin and hair. It was as if they were constantly under moonlight, swept and bathing in it. Sometimes, in the darkness of Thranduil’s Halls, it was hard to watch them: Thranduil most of all.   
The Elvenking had been in his vast libraries since the day he’d sworn to Bard to help him, searching through his books for a clue with a few of his men. Somehow, Bard knew they wouldn’t find what they were looking for- he remembered Dis telling him it was with Men of Old that his ability came. A curse then perhaps. Dark magic at work. It wouldn’t be the first time that it tricked men into thinking it was a gift. 

But Thranduil had dismissed his doubts telling him that if it was dark magic he would have sensed it. What intrigued Thranduil was how Bard fed off of their aura, or so Thranduil told him. He’d realized that, when faced with Bard’s ability, nothing was a coincidence anymore. 

It was still unnerving to be looked upon analytical, prodded and pruned for information. The more Bard said the worse he felt, the pain in his stomach traveling to his chest and pressing. It felt as if someone was sitting on his chest. 

And then his numbness spread from his fingers to his arm, soon to his shoulder and then his leg started. It scared Bard, wringing panic and pushing the air out of his lungs. 

And the dreams, the dreams were the worst of all. The flashes left him but they took his dreams and turned them into visions. They were blurry and full of gusts of light, similar to the light the elves gave of but much stronger. Scorching. 

Thranduil made worried noises when Bard told him and continued to look for clues in his books, sending ravens to who knows where.   
Bard for his part wrote letters and instructions. There was a situation at the castle, aside from the unexpected (un)welcome guests Tilda was slowly but surely driving mad, Sigrid was having trouble with some of the newer contractors. While the older ones were used to Bard giving Sigrid certain autonomy that wasn’t expected and afterwards unwelcome, the newer people were least to say unpleasant about it even though their doubts were unfounded. If they knew that Sigrid had been dealing with their finances along with Bain for the past two years Bard wondered how they would react. It turned out they were more reliable than certain ‘advisors’ that had previously been in his employ and ,thankfully, his children learned quickly. 

It was on the same day a week later when he dreamt of a ship.   
Somewhere along the way in his dreams, Bard could feel he was swaying as if he was on a ship on turbulent water. And in his dream the coast was clear and the sky was ice blue. It was not cold and it wasn’t hot as it usually happened in dream, and the ship was big and long, beautifully crafted. The sail were pure white and the wood of the ship was a shade of golden Thranduil had never quite seen before. The color of water was a strange blue-green that left him wondering. 

He sat on a bench, looking forward at the sails and the bow and when he turned he could see a golden sunset fall down on a land he felt he knew. Glimpses of sunshine stole his attention and he followed the glow of the day-stars he could see. Bard turned and before him were stars also, dancing and shining all around. The ship glided through water with calm finality.

Bard woke with a start, terrified and drenched in sweat. He was halfway out of his mind, his fight-or-flight instincts screaming for him to move.

There was a hand against his chest wrapped in metal and gems, Thranduil’s rings Bard realized, and he found Thranduil inches away from him looking startled and perhaps sleep dazed. Oh.

Bard’s dry throat closed around a mouthful of words but they remained stuck as he fought for breath.   
Thranduil’s hand left Bard’s beating heart and the man sighed, closing his eyes and rubbing them raw.

-

After that Thranduil made a more valiant effort to spend his time with him and his people, as if sensing something was happening, in turn also lingered.  
When another day passed and he had no urge to go back to Dale, the city not calling to him even once, Bard understood. He really was like a dog, he thought. 

“Bard?” Thranduil’s voice echoed and Bard turned from where he stood in front of the podium Thranduil had taken him to the last time he was there.

He didn’t stand under it instead ways back, admiring it from a distance.

“Yes?” Bard asked, turning to the elf. He’d lost more weight he knew and even with hot water his skin didn’t gain it’s pink flush. A hole was opening in his chest albeit invisible and he felt it filling with something impure. The weight, he realized. 

By the look on Thranduil’s face he knew that the Elvenking had no news but also had no words of comfort. 

“It’s a beautiful gazebo. I can’t manage a step closer to it.” Bard said. It had been heartbreaking when he found it hurting when he tried. 

“Bard, you’re fading.” Thranduil said.

Bard turned towards Thranduil. The words he’d been waiting for, the words he’d known for a while now, and it was Thranduil delivering it to him. Death, as it went, carried a familiar face. 

Thranduil shone with this kind of pure light it would have blinded Bard had he not been used to it. But in contrast to where they were - in his underground halls with flickering light- he shone like a star.

“Bard?” Thranduil inquired put out by the sudden quiet that fell upon them.

Beautiful, Bard realized, Thranduil was beautiful. It struck him then the same way it struck him years before when he was younger, so much younger. A cruel, sharp, pure kind of beauty that befell many elves. But the glow Thranduil acquired reminded him more of the light the Arkenstone had let out of it swirling depths. The same kind that beseeched so many hearts turning them vile- but all the same Bard knew Thranduil would and could never do that quite the same. 

“How much time do I have?” Bard asked. He’d known Thranduil had found something on him but it was just a string, a string he was intent on following but it was still too far off to what they needed. Still, perhaps Bard should have stopped him. He was wasting his time for a dead man.

“I don’t know, your light is dimming quickly. It’s but a small flame right now.” Thranduil confessed.   
Oh. He wouldn’t have the time to see his children for the last time, he realized.

“It was suspiciously hard to get to here.” Bard tried to joke. Thranduil’s somber expression wiped his crooked smile off of his face. 

“It’s inevitable Thranduil, I would have died sooner or later, don’t brood.” Bard said, taking a few steps towards him. Thranduil looked at the ground.

“Perhaps.” Thranduil said instead. Bard sighed. It was a conversation they already had. Apparently people like him had a habit of living a bit longer than the rest of Men but it might have also been miswritten information. 

“Still, I told you once I would die. It’s a habit of us mortals.” 

Thranduil glared at him and Bard smiled. He was near him, finally, basking in his halo of light.

“It’s okay if you can’t save me.” Bard said, extending his hand. Thranduil took it but it was not a handshake. It was trembling fingers clutching and not wanting to let go but it was also soft, as if fearing to hurt him. 

“Don’t be stupid.” Thranduil said. “Don’t just- give up when it gets difficult.”

“I’m not giving up, I’m just dealing with the consequences before anything happens.” Bard replied, pressing a teasing kiss to Thranduil’s hand. Thranduil sniffed and dropped his hand but did not let go. 

They were holding hands, Bard realized belatedly. 

“You’re doing a poor job.” Thranduil said. “A real shit job Bard.”

“I’m sorry.” Bard breathed. 

Then there was pain again, scorching overbearing pain in his stomach, his chest. He might have screamed, he wasn’t sure, ears ringing with maddening noise. 

Thranduil quickly took a hold of him with a firm grip but it did nothing to ground him. Not even he could save him this time around. 

It was a blessing when the darkness around the edges of his vision finally took over. 

-

Darkness was common to him now. After so much of it for all his life, he’d gotten used to it. It was comforting, he’d known it first, of everything else after all. Still, it eased him once the first glimpses of light swam in his vision, fell like falling stars on the canvas of his darkness and spread white and blue color- more light- and stretched it out. It was comforting until the hurting stated, until he felt as if hundreds of knives were stabbing him all at the same time right through his being. He screamed and not a single sound left his mouth. 

He was dreaming again. He was dying. 

There were flashes but it looked more like moving pictures and he stood in front of them. His head hurt from them as if he could not bear the knowledge, the information the pictures wanted to convey to him.   
There was ghosting hand over the back of his neck. An omnipresence whispered, “Look.”

-

There were hobbits, just like Master Bilbo but younger. There was Legolas he quickly recognized, and a dwarf and a man. And there was a ring. The omnipresence pushed him and he grabbed it.

-

The sky was dark and he could smell blood. Redness rose from a mountain and he sensed something drawing him to it. A red beam was on him all of a sudden and then screeching filled his ears, maddening. Corrupting. Bard gasped. 

-

Whiteness was in front of him next, a white city and a king. A tree in bloom. 

“You know what this means,” he said to himself, his thoughts reverberating as if in a cave.

Yes.

He looked down upon himself and there was a black plague spreading from his chest. It moved sluggishly but the more it did the number he went. Oh.

“Too much,” His voice said to himself. “It was too much.”

“Do your duty.”

“Choose your destiny.”

“You have to warn the children.”

“You must.”

Voices now, not even his own whispered to him. Bard looked around but saw nothing, just calm water in the dead of the night. He looked up. 

The nebulae was filled with stars, a whole world away. They hushed for a moment and then continued speaking to him. He was standing on calm water and the sea reflected the stars perfectly. He felt as if he was floating in the middle of the galaxy.

“The child will cry,” They said.

“The child will break.” 

“It was too much, he’s impure. “

“The child brought him to us.”

“Bard.”

He closed his eyes and then there was a smell of salt and heat on his skin, wind on his face. He was on the ship and the wind was blowing into the sails, bulging them and rushing the ship to go on. The rudder left a trace in the blue-green water that quickly disappeared. 

“Thranduil.” Bard said. He was standing next to him, looking beautiful and alight with stars. They slipped through his hair and wound around his robes as if recognizing one of their own.

Thranduil opened his eyes as if not expecting to see him. He corrected himself quickly, stepping towards him. “You have to get off.”

Bard shook his head. “I will drown.”

Thranduil took him by his hands. “You’ve worked on water all your life, you know how to swim. I’ll be there.”

Bard looked towards the horizon the ship was heading towards. It was getting darker but there was no sunlight. It was icy blue once more and hazy. 

“You must.” Thranduil said, sounding wretched. “Please Bard, come. Take my hand.”

Bard did, holding stronger than he’d expected. 

“Just leape. It will be alright.” Thranduil reassured, smiling at him. They had no time, Bard realized. He looked at Thranduil and then jumped.

-

It was fighting for air when he awoke, his sight hazy and tear filled. 

His throat hurt. He was too warm.

Once his sight focused he could see he was in the gazebo, underneath the crystal stars and there were elves around him. He’d been laid on the table and he felt humb in one hand. It was clutching Thranduil’s, he realized, with a death grip. Sheepish but also too content he didn’t even think of letting go. Thranduil had his other hand over his chest and he was gasping as well.

In the sunlight that streamed from above he could not see a single halo around the elves.

“What happened?” Bard rasped still not letting go. 

Thranduil looked at him and then rolled and hugged him, punching the breath out of him. He made a small ‘oof’ sound but held onto Thranduil with the same ferocity. He smelled of clean sweat and incense, of water and leaves. 

The hug went on embarrassingly long and Bard didn’t want to let go. It was warm and comfortable and it was just what Bard needed. He sniffed suspiciously and Thranduil’s chest rumbled in a laugh.   
As if they were mad they both laughed and for the first time in ages Bard felt alright. On his forty-eighth birthday, completely forgotten in the face of all, for the first time Bard felt his own noose tighten around his neck and then disappear; forgotten in his new blindness.

-

The spring of the new year took on the smell of fresh dandelions and daisies, of morning dew and bright dawns. The first sun rays descended on the faraway lands first, coming closer and illuminating the fields, the walls. The rooftops turned blue and red, yellow and white. The marble stayed beige and the sun, content, moved on. First lower levels and then up, up to the tower of his castle where he stood. 

Behind him the trees would have gleamed green and there would be a flash of gold, reflected off of a beast’s eye. But Bard did not turn and he did not see. 

The city slept but soon it would arise. Soon there would be sounds and voices, taking over the quietness of the mornings. But as it was, right then, the city still slept.   
In her chamber, Sigid still had a blue blanket thrown over her head, her golden locks peeking from the edge, soft breath filling the silence.   
In the chamber next to hers Tilda slept curled up in a ball, her new green dress laid out over a chair, gleaming with silver string. She still probably wore her new necklace, neck gleaming with gold and nothing else.   
Bain probably never even made it to the bed, falling fast asleep on his desk. Soon they too would rise. 

And the world was filled with colors, colors the stars had given him in the wake of their departure taking away the greyness, and filling it anew, sensations sparking through his body and radiating. 

Two days and miles away in his chambers, the Elvenking slept, soft and safe, and that was enough for Bard. It was enough.


End file.
